Victory!

"Oh, thank you! That was quite a large mosquito indeed!" Dunk did not even need Karen to cast an amplification spell for him; he conjured one for himself. Karen gently shook his wrist, his palm smarting a little. He had not held back on that slap at all. He had genuinely intended to send the man flying. If Dunk had been an ordinary person, he would have landed five or six meters away by now. Yet this Acting Head Bishop merely reacted as though he had received an ordinary slap. He was strong. Ranking priests by their combat prowess was actually difficult without a clear standard. In the past, Karen had used Alfred as a benchmark to compare Inquisitors, though that scale had later become somewhat skewed because of his grandfather's status as an Inquisitor... Now, he had another benchmark: anyone who could take a full slap from him and remain standing firmly was someone whose strength could by no means be underestimated. Dunk raised a hand to touch his split lip. Glancing down at the blood on his fingertips, he continued, "My wife looked at your photograph and told me that if my younger self had stood next to you, all her attention would have been on you. Heh." Karen said, "Actually, I'm quite curious—why do you still dare to stand so close to me, My Lord?" "Initially, I was considering a possibility: if I approached you and took you hostage, wouldn't these garrison knights refrain from making any further moves?" "I don't know whether I could beat you, but I don't think you could restrain me." "You're that confident?" "Not long ago, I killed an assassin. You ought to know that." "Yes, I know. But how could one know without trying?" "You might as well try right now. Perhaps these garrison knights won't even obey my orders to attack; maybe they were only deployed here to put on a show." "I wouldn't dare test that. I don't know what the garrisons of other regions are like, but I know that the garrison under Bern's personal control... values orders above life itself." "My Lord, everyone is waiting. It hardly seems appropriate for us to keep chatting like this." "Aren't you waiting too? Waiting for us to bow our heads." Dunk smiled faintly. "You are merely a pawn in someone else's game. Do you understand that?" "A pawn?" "Yes. Bern is a pawn too. I imagine that behind the two of you sits an old fellow who can only sit in a wheelchair now, with not many days left to live. "His family suffered a tragedy, and he himself is dying. He has already gone mad. Yet you two insist on going mad with him. Why bother?" "Please, continue, My Lord." "I advise you to stay your hand. There is still room to salvage everything." "My Lord, on which side..." "You have a choice. Truly." "...would I not be a pawn?" "Uh..." "I choose to be a pawn who refuses to swallow grievances. For instance, just a moment ago, I slapped you across the face, and you still had to cooperate and thank me for swatting a mosquito." "You are playing with fire." Karen took a sudden step forward. Dunk swiftly stepped back three paces. "I am not afraid of the fire reaching me. In fact, I rather look forward to that moment. I think it would be quite thrilling. Within a raging fire, life can find a brand-new interpretation. "Since you all want me to lose, then I will make every single one of you lose thoroughly alongside me." Calm words delivered with hysterical weight. Karen's eyes began to turn red. This was not mere acting; it was the effect of faintly releasing the Eyes of the Dark Moon. Having undergone the process of Order, the Eyes of the Dark Moon carried no risk of being recognized as anomalous. At the same time, the aura of extreme vengeance belonging to the Dark Moon Goddess perfectly filled the last emotional void in Karen's performance. When he swept his crimson gaze across the surroundings, everyone who met his eyes sensed the madness within him. At a normal gambling table, players could gamble on psychology. But the problem was, who dared sit at a gambling table with a madman? *Analyze the pros and cons all you want. Probe and test me all you like. In any case, I'll go 'crazy' first to show my respect.* Dunk stared into Karen's eyes. He believed his own eyes could see through most disguises, yet in this moment, he chose to back down. However, he did not make an immediate decision, because the true authority here was not him. As Dunk stepped aside, Karen's gaze fell upon Regional Chief Harry ahead. ... "Head Bishop, have you ever questioned his background?" Bishop Bern, his hands resting on the edge of the wheelchair's backrest, asked Wolflen, who sat in the chair. The two of them stood on the rooftop terrace, a vantage point offering a direct view of the Whip of Order headquarters building not far away. Because the two opposing sides were locked in a standoff on the plaza in front of the building, watching from this angle felt almost like viewing a sports match from the stands. "Bern." "Yes?" "Look at Harry's current predicament, and look at the predicament of his direct department minister." "I see it." "So, whether you intend to cooperate with him in the future, or whether you truly manage to convince him to join your faction and become your successor—none of that matters to me. But I must warn you: that boy has a temper. "You can probe other people as you please, or even squeeze and manipulate them in your palm for fun. None of that matters. "Yet unless you intend to kill him, do not attempt to probe him. "Though, if you truly intend to kill him, there wouldn't be any need to probe him either." "You also believe it's impossible for him to be an orphan, don't you?" "Why would that be impossible? Wasn't our former High Priest's mother a prostitute?" "That's different. You know very well that's different. At his age, I can acknowledge talent and personality. It's not as though I haven't seen geniuses before; I have personally snuffed out countless geniuses from foreign churches with my own hands. "Yet he's only seventeen, isn't he? His talent and character are nearly flawless, and even his temperament has been polished so steadily, like a mirror's surface. "I don't believe an orphan could achieve this. "It's not as though I haven't heard about the former High Priest. In his youth, the former High Priest wasn't known for a good temper either." Wolflen lifted a withered hand that was little more than skin and bones, pointed ahead, and chuckled as he countered, "You call this a good temper?" "Retracting and releasing at will is an art. He is putting on an act." "Harry and Dunk know he's putting on an act too." "Yet his act is about to succeed. An orphan? Where could an orphan like this possibly come from? Even if he truly were an orphan, he must have been adopted by a prominent clan. He must have received extraordinary upbringing." "Bern." "Head Bishop, I know your body is very frail right now, but I think you don't actually need to pause when speaking." "Pausing occasionally is meant to show gravity. For instance, with this next sentence: "Our current High Priest is an orphan as well." "Are you implying that he..." "Is it not possible?" "I don't think he resembles that." "Heh." Wolflen laughed. "Before the current High Priest rose to prominence, he didn't resemble it either. Otherwise, the Temple would never have sat by and watched him build up his influence within the church step by step until he reached the Round Table. "Rumors concerning the current High Priest's origins only began circulating after he took his seat at the Round Table. "I even suspect that our High Priest did it intentionally. "Because once he sat at the Round Table bearing that identity, regardless of whether that identity was true or false, the next High Priest was destined to be him alone. "I imagine those great beings in the Temple suffered greatly back then as well. "They knew full well that if he truly was the inheritor of that Great One, once he took the seat of High Priest, the Temple's control over the church would inevitably be weakened. "Yet they didn't dare bar him from that seat. Because if he truly was that Great One's Holy Child, and failed to take the seat of High Priest, that would have been the greatest joke in our church's history. Hehehe." Bern bent down, looked at Wolflen, and said, "Head Bishop, I originally thought that by entrusting your grandson to Karen, you merely wanted him to hitch a ride toward a bright future. But I truly never expected your ambitions to be this grand. "You aren't merely entrusting an orphan; you clearly want your family to take another step forward—no, many, many steps forward." "Sigh, when a man grows old and nears death... to tell the truth, I am holding on by a single breath just to watch this matter come to a close before lying down in peace. I can't even get a restful night's sleep; I can only doze off into a daze. "I don't dare think about what happened to my family anymore. So when I doze off, I have to pick sweet dreams for myself. I dream about how my grandson will look in the future, how he'll look once he's married, how he'll look when he has children... "Yet all of that is tied to Karen. It's inevitable that I would imagine Karen in the best possible light. "Without realizing it, I placed him at an exceedingly high position. Greedy, yes, I grew greedy. "However, "Bern, "do you believe me? "I have a vague premonition that this dream of mine might not be merely a dream." "Head Bishop, our Church of Order is not known for divination." "This is not divination. Even though that assassin ambushed me, I believe that even in a direct confrontation, I still wouldn't have been a match for him." "That is because you have grown old; your body and soul have both fallen into decay. Had it been you in your youth, it would have been different." "Yet that assassin was killed by Karen." "Perhaps Karen didn't kill him. A secret of the highest caliber is involved here, one beyond my clearance to know. But I have a feeling that while the assassin is dead, the credit could only be attributed to Karen." "Do you think I didn't mobilize my connections to investigate? Nearly my entire family is dead; how could I not care about this matter?" "And what were the findings of your investigation?" "Similar to yours. Helplessly enough, the lives of my entire family could not purchase a true declassification. But have you ever considered this: even if it had to be attributed as Karen's accomplishment, why did the recipient have to be him? "Are you going to tell me that's a coincidence? "Bern, you don't believe in nonsense like coincidences." "Let us change the subject, Head Bishop. I still look forward to becoming the next Head Bishop; I have no wish to be inexplicably reassigned and exiled." "Actually, I really would like to know where that assassin fled in the end. A pity that all traces were erased." "You still have the leisure to—" Bishop Bern abruptly stopped speaking. "What is it?" "Someone has approached. Not from our church, nor does he even seem to belong to any church. But he deliberately released his aura, as if to give me a heads-up." "Oh, so someone came to watch the play." "Stay seated here, My Lord. I will go take a look." "Go on." ... Bishop Bern's figure appeared outside the window of a tall building. Inside the window stood a person clad in a grey robe. The figure's face was completely concealed, as was their physique; it was an act of concealment pushed to the extreme. Yet curiously, the person acted quite openly. They had already infiltrated to such close proximity, and had they not deliberately released their aura, Bern felt he might not have noticed them at all. Bern said, "Not just anyone is qualified to watch this play." The grey-robed figure replied, "I could kill that dying old man right in front of you, and you wouldn't be able to stop me." "And so?" "So let me watch the play in peace. We won't disturb each other." "That is unacceptable. You might kill him, but I would do everything in my power to hold you here, then mobilize personnel to keep you here permanently. Unless you tell me your purpose in watching this play." "To protect Karen." "What are you to him?" "Are you sure you want to know, Bern?" "Can't you say?" "If I dare to say it, do you dare to listen?" "And afterward? I mean, after this affair." "We likely won't meet again." "Very well." Bern's figure vanished into thin air. Inside the window, the grey-robed figure sighed. "I'll settle accounts with you when we get back. Such a massive affair, and you didn't even tell your grandmother beforehand." The grey-robed figure looked down at her hands, muttering in bafflement, "Sigh, this child really... why does he never take his grandmother for a bowl of wontons?" ... Bishop Bern's figure reappeared behind Wolflen. "Who was it?" "A spectator." "On Karen's side?" Wolflen chuckled. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have tolerated their presence and returned on your own." "Yes." "What level?" "If they wanted to come kill you, I wouldn't be able to stop them alone." "Tsk... Do you all have to use me as an example? What rotten luck!" "However, I am confident I can uncover their identity. Although speaking in a man's voice, it's a woman. Advanced in years, having lived as an ordinary person for a very long time, showing unfamiliarity with many practical details. Not a believer, but most likely someone associated with our church." "A family dependent?" "Most likely. And her husband's family holds no small rank." "Anyone listening would think you had already interrogated her." "This is my trade." "Alright, professionals truly are different. And then?" "As you said, I will not conduct an investigation into Karen. I'll act as though I saw nothing." "Your tone has changed." "Because... I'm starting to believe it a little." ... Above the plaza, the falcon knights continued to circle overhead, the magical crossbows in their hands constantly trained on the key targets below. Though the undead warhorses beneath the knights remained in absolute silence, a sheen of light continually rippled across their hooves—the unmistakable sign of gathering momentum in preparation to charge. In truth, the scene unfolding on the plaza had already set a precedent. Now, everything depended on whether events would slide radically toward an incident that would shock the history of the church. And all of this hinged on three people present, one of whom—Dunk—had already bowed out. The remaining two locked eyes. "Hurry, take the photos! Take them quickly!" In a corner, Monaxi desperately urged her assistant. This was major news—massive news capable of rocking the entire clerical circle. Who could have imagined that such an event would take place within the Church of Order, the paramount church of the world? "Boss, we're almost out of film!" "Out of film? Did you have cow dung for breakfast?!" "We took so many during the meeting earlier, so there isn't much left now..." "Why did you waste so much film?! Where am I supposed to find spell film for you right now? Go borrow some from our colleagues in the Church of Order and its affiliated churches? Look at them—not a single one dares pick up their camera to take photos, because they know this cannot be photographed!" "Boss, you were the one who told me to take pictures here and there earlier, saying that once we used up all the film, we could claim reimbursements and pocket kickbacks when we went back..." "Shut up!" "Shh, keep it down." "—!" A chill instantly shot up Monaxi's spine. This was the second time she had been frightened today, and once again, it was a man. "Taking this back won't do you any good. The Church of Grey wouldn't dare publish it," the man reminded her. "I can sell it to the orthodox churches." "Oh, clever." Neo turned his gaze back toward the front. Indeed, he had broken out of prison. After all, for someone holding the 'key' to the cell, breaking out was hardly an accomplishment at all. A few nights ago, when he grew hungry, he had even slipped out for a late-night snack before returning, even bringing back breakfast for the dozing guard. In short, how could such a momentous event lack his presence? He didn't have to participate, but he absolutely had to watch from the sidelines! Only... Why did Karen's current demeanor feel so inexplicably familiar? ... Karen raised the black token and shouted at Regional Chief Harry, "This is a case under my jurisdiction. The investigation is not yet over. I demand that these five prisoners be escorted back to the detention center!" Harry said, "He gave it to you?" Evidently, Harry had already guessed something. Bishop Bern's garrison knights had been deployed, and Karen was adamantly demanding the five bishops be remanded. The truth was hardly difficult to deduce. So all of this was the dying old man's final gambit—no, that old man's final madness! The old man's words surfaced in Harry's mind: *I am dying. Before I die, I must clean up Yorktown as thoroughly as possible.* *So you didn't just want to clean up the Regional Administrative Office; you even planned to sweep the Whip of Order clean alongside it.* Now, Harry faced only two choices: either a bloody conflict, which would lead him to the tribunal; or sending those five bishops back, where, once the incriminating evidence was produced, his guilt for dereliction of duty—or even harboring criminals—would be cemented. His dream of heading to the Dinge Region was shattered, and now he could not even keep his position as Regional Chief. What had been planned as a grand wedding had been violently reduced to a funeral, all because of whatever blasted big shot stood behind Bernie! *Hum!* Harry moved, lunging straight toward Karen. He wanted to take a gamble; he wanted to risk everything! Karen sensed the shift in Harry's aura and perceived his intention. Yet Karen chose neither to defend nor to dodge. A layer of cerulean flame flared across his body—he directly... ignited his own soul. His soul was peculiar; even after being slashed by the Scythe of War, it had managed to recover through recuperation, so burning a little of it was nothing as long as he maintained control over the degree. But in the eyes of outsiders, burning one's soul was a path to death or complete crippling, causing irreversible and permanent damage at the very least. And this was the clearest, most direct demonstration of suicidal resolve! Harry's figure ground to a halt mid-stride, looking as though all his spirit had been violently drained. This was an open-hand gamble. He knew he had lost. He waved his hand and gave the order: "Lock them back up." Karen blew a breath, and the cerulean flames on his body dispersed, as though he were blowing out a lighter. At the same time, his body swayed gently from side to side in fitting fashion, signaling that his soul-burning just now had cost him dearly. However, this follow-up motion looked more like a courteous gesture following his opponent's surrender. Behind him, standing on the steps, Alfred observed the scene before him. Thinking back on how Minister Bernie, then Dunk, and finally Harry had yielded and bowed their heads one after another, a sentence his young master had written in a notebook suddenly came to his mind: *"The compensation for lost courage is decay."*