Shockwaves!

Karen stood behind Neo, his expression calm. It was not that he was deliberately putting up a front; rather, the moment Neo stepped ahead of him and overturned everything in a single stroke, Karen felt a profound sense of security from his former captain. As a terminal addict to political office, Neo had not hesitated to smother his own prospects just so he could stand before Karen right now, catching all the flames originally meant to burn Karen onto his own back, before "running" straight in front of Minister Bernie, locking him in a tight embrace, and inviting him to share a dance. Neo felt no grievance, and Karen felt no guilt. Sometimes, even the two of them could not explain how they had come to trust one another to this degree. Exchanging secrets was merely a development after trust had already taken root, not the root cause. Because they were both "Light remnants"? Yet they were entirely different from the Light remnants hiding within the church. Not only had they never used their authority to serve the Light, but on the contrary, they frequently used their identities as "Light remnants" to screw over other Light remnants. If one truly had to trace it back, it was likely when Pavaro returned "not dead," and Neo came to "visit" out of respect. Through Pavaro, the two had established an initial foundation of mutual reliance. Later, Karen entered the Whip of Order through Neo, learning and growing rapidly. On the other hand, because of Elisa's death, Neo constantly drew affirmation to keep on living from Karen. Karen would nurse a headache over Neo's reckless pursuit of amusement, and Neo would feel averse to the constant propriety Karen maintained. Though they constantly disdained each other, that never stopped either from stepping forward immediately when the other was in need. No matter how young and clever a fledgling eagle was, there were times it would lose its bearings in a sudden storm. Youth offered the advantage of having more time, yet at the same time, youth was a disadvantage that only time could erase. And when that happened, an experienced old vulture was needed on the field. Though covered in blood, the old vulture still fixed a scarlet gaze upon the "prey" seated below. In fact, it was even a little excited. *** At this moment, the journalists were practically losing their minds. In their wildest dreams, they had never imagined that a tedious assignment—originally meant merely to fill seats, prop up appearances, and pocket a stipend—could escalate to such proportions. Explosive revelations crashed in wave after wave, each far surpassing the last! One reporter could not help exclaiming to his assistant, "Oh gods, I'm so excited I feel like I'm going to wet myself!" He failed to keep his voice down, and all his peers around heard him, but no one laughed at him. Most of them felt much the same. As for the remaining few... they might already be wet. Another journalist scribbled live reports furiously for his assistants to rush out, complaining all the while, "Gods above, if only they could chop this commendation ceremony into pieces or pause it, letting me publish one article a month—how wonderful would that be!" Everyone nodded in earnest agreement. News with tremendous influence and eye-catching power was hard to come by. Those dispatched by newspapers to attend this commendation ceremony were often marginal figures within their agencies; their hunger for such an opportunity was far more desperate, and they naturally treasured it all the more. Moreover, they worried that after hauling back such massive news this time, their quotas for next month would be set even higher on this baseline. How would they fulfill them then? "Hey, come on, boys, are you still worried there won't be any news to report next? This is war! The Whip of Order has declared war on the Regional Administration Office! I bet our boots won't touch the ground from how busy we'll be!" "Right, exactly! This is the real grand opera, and the curtain has only just been drawn!" "Bring it on! Let the storm rage even harder!" "Next, Minister Bernie should be standing up." "Yeah, but why hasn't he stood up yet?" "Probably brewing his emotions. After all, Minister Bernie was the one who launched this declaration of war, wasn't he?" "Of course!" *** Liwen stared at the projection screen, reached up, and pushed his dropped jaw back into place. "Say, do you think this was arranged?" Piro did not answer, nor did Lord Mavaglio speak. Liwen pressed, "Why aren't you answering? Old geezer? Lord Mavaglio?" Piro shrugged. "Because we feel that answering your question would make us look just as foolish as you." "It wasn't arranged?" "If it were arranged, and things have reached this point, why didn't this minister named Bernie take the stage to perform himself? Why sit below and deliberately leave such a limelight opportunity to his subordinate?" Liwen retorted, "Couldn't it be that he thinks highly of the young men under him and deliberately gave them an opportunity to pave their way?" "Hah, how could that be possible, unless he's gone mad! "Judging by how things are developing, a political hurricane has already formed. What is happening in Yorktown will soon sweep through most of the divine church. Right now, he has practically strangled his own prospects in advance. I don't believe he could be selfless to that degree, nor does he have any reason to do so. "Heh, unless you tell me Karen's grandfather is some great Elder of the Temple." "Then what's the situation now..." Piro took a draw from his pipe, exhaled a cloud of smoke, and chuckled. "Where sunlight reaches, there is nothing novel. "In my view, they originally intended to use Karen as the blade. But the one who stepped up afterward grabbed that blade with both hands, paying no heed to his own dripping blood, and pointed it straight at his own minister—that fellow named Bernie. "This was truly flipping the table just to protect Karen. Haha, oh no, this is tearing down the house!" "You can play it like that?" Liwen scratched his head. "Now I'm rather glad I grew up in the Order of Knights." "Indeed. With your brains, in any other branch, someone would have sold you out and had you helping them sell the salted fish." Ignoring Piro's mockery, Liwen asked with some confusion, "Still, I feel it's such a pity for such a promising seed to be used as a blade like this. How could his superiors bear to do it?" "Probably because no one else was qualified to serve as the blade," Piro guessed. "Starting with Karen and ending with Karen is actually the most fitting. The young are the easiest to deceive, and those standing in the shadows behind them usually bear no risk while reaping all the rewards." Mavaglio rested his fingers against his lower lip and said, "I suspect something might have gone wrong somewhere." "A problem? Lord Mavaglio, what aspect do you mean?" Piro asked curiously. Liwen clapped his hands. "See? Lord Mavaglio thinks the same as me!" "Karen's commendation order didn't travel up layer by layer from the York City Region to be approved and then handed down through the ranks," Mavaglio said. "It was issued directly from the high echelons of the Whip of Order, skipping numerous approval procedures along the way, essentially linking straight to the York City Region Whip of Order Headquarters." Liwen immediately asked, "Huh? Lord Mavaglio, why are you paying so much attention to that Karen kid?" Mavaglio's gaze hardened slightly as he looked at Liwen. Liwen: "..." Though he did not understand why, Liwen could sense that Lord Mavaglio seemed slightly displeased by his question. Piro quickly steered the conversation back. "Does this mean someone in the upper ranks of the Whip of Order pushed for the rapid issuance of this commendation order?" Liwen chimed in right away, "Wait, that doesn't make sense. Doesn't that mean this kid Karen has someone backing him up high in the Whip of Order?" Mavaglio picked up a cup of coffee beside him, took a sip, and said, "That's precisely where the problem lies. I can understand the regional headquarters leaders wanting to push Karen forward as an expendable shield; that is indeed a very mature, clever tactic to trade a subordinate for political gain. "Yet considering Karen's talent, potential, future prospects, and the obvious signs of backing from the higher-ups evident in this commendation order, pushing Karen out to be consumed like this truly required considerable nerve. "Sometimes doing business does mean looking at immediate profit—cash in one hand, goods in the other, leaving no overnight risk. But not everyone can resist the temptation of enormous long-term returns." Liwen immediately chimed in, "Exactly! They actually didn't realize that kid Karen has you standing behind him, Lord Mavaglio." Mavaglio's gaze turned cold once more. Piro stroked his forehead in resignation. The Holy Child's status was incomparably noble, but he was still young, after all, and held no actual post in any department. To speak of him as a patron right now carried a mocking edge. Yet Mavaglio did not truly lose his temper. Instead, he continued, "So, I am very curious about their motive. Did they receive some kind of instruction? I know Regional Head Harry; he has sat in that regional post for many years. In the past, the local regional Whip of Order branches were practically left to graze on their own, so he shouldn't have anyone backing him. "I am very curious about which faction this minister named Bernie belongs to within the Whip of Order." Liwen asked, "Why do you think he has someone behind him?" Piro could not help scolding, "Moron, didn't you see the table was flipped toward him?" "Oh, right. That's true." Piro turned back to Mavaglio. "My Lord, do you suspect there is an issue with Karen's identity?" For if someone above had instructed them to target Karen and Bernie was merely obeying orders, that might very well mean there was a problem with Karen's background. Mavaglio shook his head. "There is nothing wrong with Karen's identity. He is simply too exceptionally talented." "Then..." Piro could not comprehend. Who at the top had so much free time on their hands to deliberately make trouble for an exceptional youngster within their own church? In their circle, "the top" referred to truly elevated positions, by default meaning those with real executive power in the system. As a Holy Child and the grandson of Theisen, Mavaglio possessed an intuition that surpassed others in his circle: "Heh, it might not even be aimed at Karen." "My Lord, you mean..." "When gods clash, it's often the ordinary people nearby who suffer." *** "Pass down the order: the skies are very likely to change in the York City Region, and many positions will open up. Prepare a list in advance to see which posts we can fight for on behalf of our people. "We cannot wait until the pickle vat is empty to decide what sauce to ferment. The ingredients must be prepared ahead of time." "Yes, Master." "Yes, Master." Davins nodded, waving them away, and turned back to look at the projection screen. Then, he let out a sigh. "What a pity. Someone was actually willing to protect you like this. I had hoped to approach you after you were exiled from the Whip of Order. After being oppressed by a corrupted Whip of Order, you would have been able to understand the pure teachings of Order far better." Davins still remembered that during the evaluation at the Knight Order Hospital, the young man in the projection had earned a perfect score from him. He was a young man of immense potential, and moreover, he held incomparable devotion toward the God of Order. Yet what Davins did not know was that Karen had long been aware of their existence. Karen had even personally handled the quill pen used for testing and attended one of their internal missionary lectures. However, while Karen had known of their existence back then, he had never actively sought them out or investigated them. After all, who would go out of their way to provoke a bunch of fundamentalists? Moreover, they called themselves a "rebel organization." Karen would have to be insane to get entangled with them. Of course, it was not purely out of fear of their extremist tenets. To some degree, compared to the path Karen wished to walk, their extremism seemed remarkably mild—even... appeasing. *** In the headquarters building, the formation maintenance department was frantic, like ants on a hot pan. They could not fathom who could have seized control of the defensive formation in the auditorium area so swiftly and cleanly. Meanwhile, seated inside the auditorium, Memphis kept both hands beneath his clerical robes, a small magic cube rotating smoothly between his fingers. Who could have imagined that a former Jurist of the York City Region Special Formation Department—and the son of that department's minister—actually held the identity of a team member in the Whip of Order? To Memphis, however, if anyone dared bully his nephew, he, as the uncle, would dare stake his life against them! In truth, Memphis had not intended to leave any backdoors when designing it. It was Neo who had sought him out specifically, urging him repeatedly to ensure a backdoor remained in the newly modified defensive formation. As it turned out, it had actually come in handy. If he had not known that this isolated defensive formation alone was insufficient, Memphis would have loved to try using it to blast those leaders to bits. He was truly capable of doing so—he was a "lunatic," after all. *** Vic leaned forward and whispered, "Now things have blown up completely. Perfection." Alfred nodded. "The minister has been dragged into the water. I doubt he can follow the director's example and run over to bow and scrape before the regional head." "Hehe." Vic took a deep breath and glanced sideways at Leon, who sat on the far edge. "Now we should shift our thinking. If the Head Bishop can stand on our side, we can turn the passive into the active entirely this time." "He should stand on our side," Alfred said. Vic expressed some concern. "Still, it's just one grandson." Alfred corrected him, "No, he only has one grandson left." "You're right, Alfred." Vic rubbed his fingers together with excitement. "They originally intended to discard our director after wringing out all his value. Now, we can try taking their route." "Indeed. One singing with a red face, the other singing with a white face." "Uh, what does that mean?" "A niche theatrical form where actors paint their faces. The red face signifies a benevolent person, while the white face represents the despised." "In short, for all the interrogations and official procedures this time, we must bring Leon along. The only one holding the criminal evidence against those bishops is his grandfather. I don't believe the Head Bishop would be naive enough to hand everything over early on. "In that case, operating in the middle to trade favors and play the good guy will be far simpler." "Mm," Alfred acknowledged. "And then the Head Bishop can step forward to redirect all the fury and pressure from the Regional Administration Office onto the regional head and the minister." "Right, exactly!" "However, there is one thing I must remind you of." "Huh?" "Do not think of reducing charges, harboring anyone, or covering things up. The Head Bishop will not agree, and the young master will not agree either. Those who are guilty should be sentenced according to the Code of Order. In the past, the conditions did not exist, but now, there is finally a chance to pass judgment on them." "Then here's the question: if we strictly enforce the law, how do we sell favors and play the good guy?" "That's simple." Alfred adjusted his cuffs. "Just haul in a few more innocent people, and then release them." Vic froze for a long while before finally squeezing out a word from the bottom of his heart: "Impressive." *** Dinge Region, Whip of Order Headquarters, Secretary's Office. Marlene held a pair of tweezers, delicately picking up a sugar cube and placing it into a small bottle before her. Inside were over a dozen ants. These were the Whip-Wielder's pets, and she had to tend to and feed them with utmost care. On the bookshelves in her office, more than half the space was occupied by vivariums housing various rare ants. Before her desk floated a glowing sphere, projecting the scene inside the auditorium. "Heh, how things have unfolded is far more amusing than I imagined." Just then, a clerk walked in and reported, "Chief Secretary, here is a dispatch originally destined for Section Chief Steven's office." "Where is Section Chief Steven himself?" Marlene asked. "According to his schedule, he is currently hosting an internal departmental development briefing." "Mm, send it to his office then." "Yes, Chief Secretary." Marlene set the bottle aside and stood up. She was the Chief Secretary serving directly beside the Whip-Wielder, overseeing the entire secretariat. Yet because her seniority was relatively shallow, others in the office had always viewed her as someone who had gained favor solely through her skill at raising ants. Among them, Steven, the head of the Third Section of the Secretariat, was the most conspicuous. One had to understand that although the secretaries around the Whip-Wielder held modest ranks, their status was transcendent and their influence immense. Around these secretaries, distinct inner circles usually formed, populated by powerful figures from various departments across the system. Consequently, power struggles often erupted between the different secretarial factions. The Temple had sent Karen's dossier to the Whip-Wielder twice, both times delivered through Marlene. Yet when sealing the documents afterward, Marlene had deliberately ordered one of Steven's plants beside her to carry it out—the very clerk who had just come in to report. At the same time, she had deliberately sighed aloud in her office that day: *No wonder the Whip-Wielder lost his temper so badly; they truly treat the High Priest's words like a breeze past their ears.* She had only done those two things—two very, very small things. Steven would see the official communication from the Temple and the two identical dossiers; that could not be faked. Coupled with the report from his informant, in Steven's eyes, this figure Karen had become entangled with the Temple, causing the Whip-Wielder discomfort while preventing him from openly targeting the youth. The ever-attentive Steven would follow that train of thought and make his own arrangements. He had always been an exceptional, capable secretary, far better than her at resolving matters the Whip-Wielder found inconvenient to handle directly. He was more capable than she was; Marlene had never doubted that. Yet who told you to keep letting the ants die, preventing you from being taken along by the Whip-Wielder whenever he traveled, as I am? It had to be said that this fellow named Bernie was quite a competent subordinate. What a pity he had followed the wrong person. Mm, no, that wasn't quite right; it should be that the person he followed, who followed someone else... had followed the wrong person. Heh. As long as one's position was high enough, even a tiny sneeze could trigger violent tremors down below. Who could have guessed that everything unfolding inside the auditorium of the York City Region Whip of Order Headquarters originated merely from a power struggle within the Whip-Wielder's secretariat? Marlene stepped out of her office. She intended to report to the Whip-Wielder that the conflict between the York City Region Whip of Order and the Regional Administration Office had been thoroughly ignited, and that it was very likely to spark a new round of confrontation between the Whip of Order system and local regional powers—one incomparably fiercer than the last. However, when Marlene reached the door to the Whip-Wielder's office, she found it coated in a layer of frost. That signified "Do Not Disturb." Yet Marlene felt the situation she needed to report was urgent, and by convention, she was permitted to breach that status. So she raised her hand and knocked. *Crack!* A black whip lashed out in an instant, striking Marlene squarely and knocking her to the ground. A bloody gash ripped open from between her brows all the way down to her abdomen. Marlene's face filled with horror. This was the highest-level "Do Not Disturb"! *** Inside the office that symbolized the supreme authority of the Whip of Order, Foden knelt prone upon the carpet before his desk. Seated in his original high-backed chair was the ethereal silhouette of the High Priest. "Foden, I believe I warned you: I have no need for a dog that enjoys slipping the leash from my hands. "Furthermore, pray tell me, why do your subordinates now love using broadcast formations to stage church-wide live projections at every turn? "Did the divine church expend such vast resources building this formation network specifically for your Whip of Order to perform stage plays?" "High Priest, this subordinate truly had no knowledge of this matter! This was not this subordinate's arrangement, truly not this subordinate's arrangement!" A brief silence fell. Cold sweat dripped down Foden's face. And the High Priest's next words turned Foden's complexion utterly ashen. "Oh, then that is even more severe. A disobedient dog can still be put to use after a good beating. But if it is a useless dog, what reason do I have to keep it?" Foden: "..."