Mink Street, the church.
Diss was packing up his things. His work for the day was finished.
In truth, running even the smallest church was an intricate affair involving all sorts of facets, far beyond mere professional competence.
After all, churches were not built one per mountaintop; there might be one on this street and another on the next. Believers were "patrons," and churches faced fierce competitive pressure among themselves.
Diss, however, cared little for such things. He handled only his assigned duties, and once they were done, he went home. He would never participate in extra activities just to expand the church.
Just like his attitude toward the family business, he had long ceased taking part in its day-to-day operations.
Simon, dressed in black, walked in through the doorway and set a receipt report before Diss.
Diss opened it right before him. Inside was the response from the Church of Order's Ruilan Regional Administrative Office regarding his recent handling of the mayoral election group.
The reply began by fully affirming Diss's keen perception and foresight in the matter, praising his devotion to duty and his attentiveness to his responsibilities.
Next came the official classification of the incident: an "incursion" by foreign aberrant demon forces targeting Rojia City, which went so far as an attempt to use Rojia City as a springboard to overthrow the Church of Order's entire system in Ruilan.
Finally, it commended Diss for extinguishing the peril through thunderous means and once more extended an invitation for him to be promoted to the Ruilan Regional Administrative Office.
Diss was clearly not surprised by the reply. Having read it, he set it aside.
"When I came in just now, I saw Deacon Cande sulking by himself," Simon remarked.
"Oh," Diss acknowledged.
Deacon Cande was the director of this church's administrative office. He had taken over his father's post just last year and was eager to expand the church's reach. Yet every proposal he drew up for that purpose was vetoed the moment it was placed before Diss.
Diss had no time to attend promotional functions and took a dim view of holding extraneous religious ceremonies.
"Deacon Cande is quite depressed," Simon said.
"He'll get used to it." Diss picked up his fountain pen and signed his name on the receipt voucher. "Just as his father, Old Cande, did back then."
Simon pulled out another form—the routine biweekly report. "Your signature is required here as well."
Diss signed it.
"I've read your dossier within the church." Simon looked at him with curiosity. "You seem to have never shown any interest in promotion."
Several of the current figures holding real authority in the Church of Order's Ruilan Region had, in fact, been peers of Diss's sons. On the dossier of one regional guardian, it was even clearly recorded that he had served as an intern God's Servant under the Rojia City Inquisitor.
With ties like that, Diss could easily have attained a far higher position within the Ruilan regional system. Quite a few of the older generation in the Church of Order had elevated their standing and benefits precisely by cultivating disciples and successors in that manner.
"What is the purpose of promotion?" Diss asked.
"To better contribute to the development of the Church of Order," Simon gave the standard answer.
"Was the seat unoccupied before I was promoted to it?" Diss countered.
"You should believe that your capabilities are superior, so that if you were to occupy that seat, it would yield better results."
"That would mean the person originally sitting there was inadequate and failing to produce proper results. That is something for the Whip of Order to handle—dragging those who neglect their duties, slack off at work, and lose their faith down from positions their virtues do not merit."
"Your reasoning is sound, but it still fails to convince me."
"Then why should I need to convince a regional courier?"
"You certainly have no such need," Simon bowed slightly.
"Or is a member of the Whip of Order standing before me now, demanding an accounting on this matter under the church's Internal Law?"
"No, certainly not. You misunderstand."
"Have you seen Rasma?"
"I..." Simon offered a wry smile and ultimately nodded. "Yes. Lord Rasma is already in Rojia City."
"Mm." Diss continued gathering his things from the desk. "He doesn't dare come see me."
Simon licked his lips. To an extent, he felt the local Inquisitor before him was telling the truth.
During his interactions with Lord Rasma, he had indeed sensed that the High Priest harbored... deep wariness toward this man.
Most importantly, the High Priest had made no attempt to conceal that sentiment, as though being wary of the elder before him was the most natural thing in the world.
"Is there any message you would like me to convey to the High Priest for you?"
"There is."
Simon straightened his back at once, showing he would listen attentively.
Diss drew a business card from a book on his desk and handed it to Simon. Simon received it; printed on it was:
*Vice President of the Rojia Pastry Association—Engels.*
"This is one of my believers. He comes to the church every week to pray. A few days ago, I specifically asked him for this card. Please pass it to Rasma; he will find it useful."
Simon blinked, bewildered.
"Lord Rasma likes pastries?"
"He doesn't like eating them, but he likes the scent of pastries. He believes it brings peace to his mind."
"I see. The same principle as someone who enjoys incense." Simon mused thoughtfully.
"Indeed."
Having gathered his belongings, Diss stepped around Simon, preparing to leave.
Tucking the card away, Simon hurried after him and asked, "There is one more matter I would like to ask, hoping for your guidance."
"Speak."
"I originally thought Lord Rasma came to Ruilan Region for that unprecedented god descent ritual in Belwin City, but now it feels as though that isn't the case."
"It isn't."
"Then do you know the true purpose of Lord Rasma's journey?"
"Me."
"You?"
"Yes."
Simon's heart jolted. He truly had not anticipated so blunt an answer from the old man.
"Yet you were still busy leading the believers in prayer this morning."
"Simon."
"I'm listening."
"If someone told you that tomorrow the great God of Order would descend upon the mortal realm once more, what should you do today?"
"I... I don't know. The mere thought of such a scenario makes my head spin. What do you think I should do?"
Diss smiled and replied, "Before today ends, deliver the signed documents back to the Ruilan Regional Administrative Office for filing and record.
"Since tomorrow has not yet arrived, you should still do today's work with proper care."
"I understand. Thank you for your guidance." Simon halted his steps, placing both hands over his chest toward Diss's departing figure as the elder stepped through the church doors. "Praise Order, and praise your generosity as well."
"He has no need for your praise," Rasma's voice materialized behind Simon.
"My Lord." Simon bowed.
Rasma ignored his salute, reaching out instead to take the card.
"Do you know what frustrates me most about Diss?"
"I think..."
"I was merely giving myself an opening to speak, not genuinely asking for your answer."
"My apologies."
"It's that he can take something you hold precious, toss it out casually, and bestow it upon you. He doesn't need your gratitude because he doesn't care in the slightest—just like that guidance he gave you a moment ago.
"You've been stuck at the Inquisitor level for quite some time now. You must have been deeply moved just now, yes?"
"Yes, earlier..."
"I can see the power of faith clashing violently within you, proving that his words stimulated you into a kind of epiphany. Right now, you ought to find a quiet place, elevate your faith properly, and stabilize it."
"No, I believe what I should do right now is deliver the documents back. That is my duty," Simon said.
As Simon spoke those words, Rasma saw the vortex of faith power within him churn even more violently.
"You are a very talented young fellow," Rasma remarked.
"Thank you for the praise, my Lord."
Rasma suddenly stood still, his expression turning somewhat... complicated.
"My Lord, what is the matter?" Simon asked.
"I suddenly remembered something. Many years ago, when I was still very young and Diss was also young, the church selected us for a team to undergo a trial in an abandoned ruin.
"The elder leading the expedition appointed Diss as our team leader.
"After the trial succeeded, Diss once said a sentence to me:
"'You are a very talented young fellow.'"
Simon: "This..."
Rasma pointed at himself, then at Simon, chuckling wryly.
"So was the gulf between him and me back then already like the gulf between me and you now?
"Yet back then, I put on a cold face and retorted to him: 'I hope next time you're on the rival team, so I can make you pay for those words.'
"The older I get, the less I care to reminisce.
"Especially reminiscing about anything connected to Diss. Every time I recall it, my awareness of how foolish I was back then only deepens."
Simon dared not comment.
"You asked Diss just now why I came here?"
"Yes, I asked."
"His answer wasn't wrong. The purpose of my coming here is for him. Perhaps in ten days at most, our Church of Order's temple will gain another Temple Elder."
"My Lord, you mean Inquisitor Diss?"
"Is there anyone else?" Rasma asked in return.
"Then... have you come on behalf of the church to prepare a grand reception ritual for Lord Diss?"
Rasma shook his head. "No."
"No?"
"I have come to clean up the aftermath—the aftermath of his refusal to enter the temple."
"Refusal... to enter the temple?"
Shock washed over Simon's face. That was the greatest lifelong dream of every believer in the Church of Order.
"Don't look so shocked. Didn't I tell you earlier? What you consider precious is often nothing to him.
"After the temple sensed that the church was about to give birth to a new being who comprehended the profound mysteries of Order, a divination and calculation was immediately performed. The result showed less than a ten percent chance that he would choose to enter the temple to serve the God of Order."
"Less than ten percent?"
Rasma's next sentence brought Simon straight to his knees on the ground.
"There is an eighty percent chance that he will summon the Sword of Order and point it at our supreme... Temple of Order."
***
Diss walked along the path home. Acquaintances from the neighborhood greeted him from time to time, and he responded to each with a smile.
As he neared his front door, a figure wearing an old leather jacket appeared by the roadside.
Diss stopped in his tracks, looked at him, and said, "I thought you would keep hiding from me."
"I truly wanted to keep hiding," Rasma said frankly. "But I have no more time, because you don't have much time left."
"Yes," Diss conceded.
"All these years, I never believed you were truly wallowing in despondence. On certain tracks, some people can simply roll over in their sleep and still place higher than others who run with every ounce of their strength."
"Thank you."
"Yet I never imagined that when we met again, the man I once considered my lifelong rival would already possess the qualifications to enter the temple—becoming one of the exalted beings before whom even I must kneel in worship."
"You know, Rasma..."
"Yes, I know. You aren't interested in my worship." Rasma inhaled deeply. "Still, I believe we can talk."
"Indeed," Diss said. "I would like to hold a negotiation with the church."
"You know, Diss, in this world, even the great orthodox churches no longer have the standing to say such things to our Church of Order. What's more, you are one of our own."
"I trust the temple performed divinations," Diss said calmly. "And I can roughly guess the results. After all, what they divined were my thoughts, weren't they?"
"You're mad."
"I am merely weary of it. It's like a child playing with building blocks. At first, he is full of enthusiasm, stacking them piece by piece with painstaking care. With great difficulty, he builds it extraordinarily high, only to suddenly lose interest in the game—or perhaps he has simply had his fill of fun.
"So at that moment, he often chooses to push over the tall tower of blocks with his own hands. Seeing the scattered rubble on the floor, far from feeling regret or heartache, and far from realizing that all his painstaking effort and thought have vanished into thin air, he claps his hands and laughs with delight instead."
"You liken yourself to a child?"
"Because you are terrified of this child."
Rasma rested both hands before him.
"In the name of the Church of Order's High Priest, I shall negotiate with you."
Diss shook his head. "Not today. Seven days from now, at the cemetery."
"Why?"
"Because right now I must hurry home to taste the lunch my grandson prepared with his own hands. This afternoon, I plan to drink tea and chat with him. He has become much more cheerful lately, and often talks with me.
"I'm sure you would like him—a handsome and engaging young man. Talking with him is truly a pleasure.
"My daughter knitted me a sweater and plans to give it to me tomorrow. I need to try it on so she can make alterations. Back when she was pursuing her happiness, she said some harsh words to me. Though she has returned to live at home now, I know she has been looking for an opportunity to apologize. I intend to comfort her and let her know she will always be my most cherished daughter.
"The day after tomorrow is my second daughter-in-law's birthday. She has stayed by my unreliable son and borne him a son and a daughter—no easy task. I want to celebrate her birthday properly.
"Life hasn't been easy for her in this household. She not only tends to the family's birthdays, but also looks after everyone's daily lives. The Inmerlais family owes her far too much.
"On the fourth day, my grandchildren have their term final exams at school. As usual, I will pray for them on the morning of their exams so they won't feel flustered or nervous.
"Mina is fine; she has always been steady. Lunt and Chris are more easily swayed by their emotions; they need care and encouragement.
"On the fifth day is the memorial for my eldest son and his wife. I killed them with my own hands. Every year on that day, I silently mourn them.
"On the sixth day is the funeral for my friend, Old Hoffen. Ruilan people place great importance on these major observances following a death. He was the friend I spent the most time with in the latter half of my life; this is something I ought to do for him.
"On the seventh day is my grandson's fiancée's birthday, which coincidentally is also the birthday of that pet cat of mine.
"You see, over the next seven days, I am very busy. I have things to do every day.
"Therefore, I have decided to set the date of our negotiation for seven days from now. Seven days from now, at this exact hour, after I finish leading the believers in service at the church, I won't rush home. I will wait in the church for you... and the others."
"Your reasons are thorough indeed," Rasma said. "Forgive me, but I truly cannot help asking: you would postpone and schedule a negotiation with the temple over these trivial domestic matters?
"Diss,
"do you realize,
"not only have I come,
"but accompanying me are the divine wills of three Temple Elders?
"I am easy to talk to, but do you think those three Temple Elders will be as accommodating as I am?"
"Then that falls to you to explain," Diss replied. "The date I set is seven days from now. Seven days from now, the temple still has a chance to negotiate and let me make my final choice.
"Of course,
"you may choose five days, three days, one day, or even right now.
"Yet I believe you ought to know what choice I would make."
"Diss, this is blasphemy against the God of Order."
A faint smile touched the corner of Diss's mouth.
"When mortal matters have yet to be settled, who has the spare mind to bother with a god?"
"I will convey your words to the three Temple Elders."
"Very well. My thanks for your trouble, Rasma."
Diss pointed ahead.
"That is my home over there, as you should know.
"13 Mink Street.
"Care to come in and sit for a while?"
"No," Rasma refused flatly, then added, "Perhaps in the future, I will have an opportunity to look inside."
The moment the words left his mouth, Rasma regretted them, quickly amending, "I was only joking. I had no intention of threatening you."
Diss nodded.
Rasma breathed a sigh of relief inwardly. "If there is no reply, take it as tacit consent to your demand for a negotiation in seven days. I shall take my leave. Oh, and thank you for the pastry shop card."
The moment his words fell, Rasma's figure dissolved into a patch of black mist, dissipating on the spot. He departed in great haste, not daring to linger for a fraction of a second.
Diss continued forward until he reached the entrance of his home. He turned around, standing before the courtyard gate.
He recalled that day, and the conversation he had shared with Karen as they stood in this very spot:
*"Karen, where is this place?"*
*"Home!"*
***
He remembered that after answering, Karen had collapsed to the ground, fortunate that the golden retriever was beneath him to cushion the fall, or he might truly have broken his skin.
He knew Karen had been terrified at that moment, for killing intent had indeed radiated from him—yet Karen had mistakenly thought Diss intended to kill him.
Standing before his front door, Diss slowly turned around, his back to the courtyard gate.
His gaze swept over his surroundings, before finally lifting toward the sky.
"From now on,
"the Inmerlais family
"shall become forbidden ground to the church... and even to god."
Chapter 62