Deep within a massive underground karst cave, an altar carved with arcane runes hummed slowly to life, magnificent and solemn.
Floating above the very top of the altar was a game board. It was gladiator chess, a game once popular in the previous era but long since lost to history, and the divine artifact of Yaliluolan, the Goddess of Infatuation.
Yaliluolan was not a chief god; she belonged to the lower tiers of the divine hierarchy and had never established a church of her own. Near the end of the previous era, she had been judged an evil deity by the God of Order and suppressed by Order’s might.
According to the *Light of Order*, Yaliluolan had attempted to bewitch an "esteemed lord" belonging to the Order camp in a bid to make him turn against the God of Order, but the plot ended in failure.
As for who this "esteemed lord" actually was—whether one of the God of Order's Four Retainers, one of the Twelve Order Knights, or another deity aligned with Order at the time—no one knew.
This was not a deliberate omission meant to protect the lord’s reputation; rather, it had never been made public even back then, remaining an enduring secret.
Bolder theorists went so far as to guess that the one the Goddess of Infatuation had sought to seduce was the God of Order himself.
Similar tales existed in the mythological accounts of the Moon God Church, which claimed the God of Order had once been bewitched, and Artemis, the Moon Goddess, had offered up her purest tears to help dissolve the affliction.
Now, as the Moon God Church leaned ever more heavily on its alliance with the Church of Order, both mythological systems—especially the Moon God Church's—would inevitably undergo revisions. In a few years, the latest edition of the Moon God Church's scriptures would undoubtedly include far more "interactions" between the Moon Goddess and the God of Order during the previous era.
Karen, having personally attended meetings on revising mythological narratives, had once mused: *If descendants do well enough for themselves, they can even find lovers for their ancestors.*
Yet having glimpsed the truth, Karen knew very well that no romance had ever existed between the God of Order and the Moon Goddess. When it came to emotions, the God of Order had always been utterly heartless.
After all, even Ankara was a daughter born through unconventional means.
As for the claim that the tears of the Moon Goddess Artemis had cleared the bewitchment infecting the God of Order—well, if her tears were truly effective, Karen, from his perspective, would assume the God of Order had beaten the Moon Goddess until she cried just to collect them.
Every square and piece on Yaliluolan’s board could seal a person's essence, energy, and spirit, allowing the goddess to enter the board for pleasure whenever she wished.
It could be considered a divine artifact that combined numerous conceptual rules into one: sealing, binding, imprisonment, mind, soul, charm, and space.
However, having a wide variety of tricks often meant a lack of mastery. In the previous era, this artifact had not been regarded as particularly distinguished, ranking at best as a bottom-tier divine artifact.
Yet in this era where gods no longer walked the world, an artifact with high structural integrity possessed far greater value.
The board’s integrity was remarkably intact, and its properties happened to suit the present need. Thus, it was tasked with guiding and suppressing the entire altar. Though positioned at the very top, its true function was to anchor and stabilize the foundation.
In addition, two other divine artifacts hovered around the altar: a pair of books.
These two books were also divine artifacts, once the research notes of two branch deities of the Church of Principles before their ascension, which had evolved into artifacts under the nourishment of godhood.
One faced inward while the other faced outward, each handling adjustment and calibration.
Their effect was somewhat similar to the Guman family's ancestral Key to the Rubik's Cube, but far more advanced and unconstrained by the wielder's personal configuration. They could independently analyze and resolve problems, ensuring that this intricately constructed altar operated smoothly.
At four points below the altar stood four sculptures: a crystal priest, a golden warrior, a black stone sorcerer, and a silver summoner.
All four sculptures originated from the Church of Principles, crafted by ancient sages who had sealed the powers of elite practitioners of various classes inside them. They were extraordinarily precious.
In this era, even the Church of Principles lacked the capability to manufacture new ones, and even repairing normal wear and tear was exceedingly difficult.
Around the altar’s perimeter, hundreds of priests clad in Principle robes worked at their posts. A small number of priests in Order robes moved among them, though they formed only a minor fraction.
Evidently, the Church of Principles was primarily responsible for conducting the experiment. On the outer rim of the cave, however, a large contingent of Order priests handled security. Though dressed in clerical robes, they wore melee weapons made of special alloys at their waists.
Clearly, they were not local Yorktown priests and had nothing to do with the garrison; they had been temporarily reassigned from the frontier reclamation zones. Battle-hardened and lethal, they were distinctly different from the Order priests working in conventional administrative regions.
One had to admit that the staffing arrangements perfectly reflected the relationship between the Church of Order and the Church of Principles: Principles handled the technology, while Order provided the muscle.
On a protruding platform overlooking the cavern stood two elderly priests, one in Order robes and the other in Principle robes.
They were the overseers of this final experiment, effectively serving as the chief director and deputy director.
"Is everything ready?"
"Ready."
"What are we waiting for?"
"Waiting for Mr. Luther to die naturally."
"We cannot intervene?"
"The probability of success was already low to begin with. Adding direct intervention would reduce the chances virtually to zero. Rest assured, the finest diviners in our church have conducted a collective reading. It will happen in a day or two; he will die in a sudden accident."
"I don't believe in divination."
"Divination from the Church of Principles is not the same as prophecies from the Mural God Church. Mr. Luther intends to launch coordinated mass demonstrations across all major cities in Wien. This is something the Wien Empire's government cannot tolerate.
"Even if civilian racists don't act, the government will arrange for 'racists' to assassinate him. In short, we must not take the initiative to kill him ourselves."
"The experiment is nearing its end, and so many resources have already been poured into it. I want an honest answer from you: what is the percentage chance of success?"
"That denominator isn't quite appropriate."
***
"I originally thought you'd refuse my proposal," Neo said, rubbing his "new face." "Yet you actually agreed without a fight, wasting all the persuasive arguments I'd prepared in my head."
"Why would I refuse?" Karen was also looking in the mirror, examining his new appearance. He looked more mature than his real self, resembling an urban white-collar professional.
"A higher-level, independent department is running a secret experiment. Reason dictates we shouldn't get involved. I only said I wanted an opportunity to meet Mr. Luther up close to satisfy my curiosity and add a little personal investment to the upcoming assassination."
"I know."
"How rare. You're actually willing to fool around with me."
"Fool around?" Karen shook his head. "The Whip of Order possesses the authority to investigate any conduct suspected of violating the *Code of Order*. And don't forget, the Whip of Order's purpose is to wipe away the dust gathering upon Order; its role was designed from the beginning for internal oversight."
"Your understanding and application of the *Code of Order* is getting more flexible by the day. It's as if no matter what you do, you can find a way to anchor it there."
"Mm. Lord Theisen taught me that."
"Looks like I need to learn from you. In the future, whenever I find something interesting or my hands start itching, I'll go flip through the *Code of Order*. If I can't find anything there, I'll check the *Era of Light*. If that fails too, I'll leaf through the *Notes of the Ancestor*. There's bound to be a clause somewhere that suits me."
"Let's go."
Donning their masks and assuming their new identities, Karen and Neo walked straight toward the hotel where Mr. Luther was staying. Outside the entrance and in the lobby, many of his supporters were still gathered, waiting for the tour events scheduled to begin the next day.
Right by the hotel doors, however, Karen and Neo both noticed a visibly flustered man puffing furiously on a cigarette.
He was an ordinary mortal—thin, with a dazed gaze, and his hair was not purple.
Although non-purple-haired people made up a sizable portion of Mr. Luther's supporters, this man's demeanor and temperament clearly did not match the crowd.
Moreover, two plainclothes priests were tailing him.
The man tossed down his cigarette butt, turned, and walked away. The plainclothes priests followed him to the end of the street before breaking off their pursuit.
"Is he the one?"
"Just an ordinary racist. He won't kill anyone. No need to follow him."
Lately, they had been scouting for potential assassins to set up advance surveillance—not to prevent the assassination, but to pin down the exact moment it would occur.
"I'm going to keep an eye on that fellow," Neo said, suddenly stopping.
"You're not going to see Mr. Luther?"
"Not anymore. I never had much interest in his cause anyway. But I'm willing to bet you that the guy just now might be the real assassin. Those priests are priests after all; they've been detached from ordinary society for too long to recognize the authentic scent of things."
"Suit yourself."
"Heh, then we split up."
Neo departed, while Karen continued walking inside. Before long, he was stopped in the lobby by Mr. Luther's supporters.
Karen produced a press credential and said, "Hello, I'm Jens, a reporter with *Daily Freedom*. I'm here to interview Mr. Luther."
The press pass had been procured by Neo. His method had been simple: find two fellows who looked like reporters, knock them unconscious, and forge the photos on the badges. He hadn't even needed specialized equipment, using only his fingernails to modify the document.
"One moment please, Mr. Reporter."
After a brief wait, a purple-haired man dressed in a suit came downstairs. "Mr. Jens, please follow me."
Meeting no further obstacles, Karen was ushered smoothly into the guest room to see Mr. Luther.
Mr. Luther signaled the others to step outside, agreeing to be interviewed alone.
The contents of the interview were not complicated, perhaps even somewhat routine. Since Karen read newspapers regularly, he knew how to ask questions that were easy for Mr. Luther to answer.
It felt less like an interview and more like a rehearsed recitation.
Even so, Karen could feel the intense energy radiating from the civil rights leader before him.
Judging by the lines around the man's eyes, he hadn't slept well recently, yet his gaze shone with ceaseless vitality. He was a man who seemed capable of endlessly inspiring fighting spirit and hope in those around him.
He was a fighter.
When the standard interview concluded, Karen closed his notebook. The next step was normally to ask a few casual questions to wrap up, but unexpectedly, Mr. Luther was the first to speak.
He walked over to the window, opened it to let the cold breeze drift in, and asked, "Mr. Jens, do you think our movement will succeed?"
"Do you want the truth or a pleasant lie?"
"The truth, of course."
Karen nodded. "I do not believe you will succeed."
"Oh? Why? From our conversation just now, I can tell you certainly aren't a racist, Mr. Jens."
"I am not a racist, but those in power are. If your opponent were me, the matter would actually be quite easy to resolve."
"Hm?"
"You hope to secure the legitimate rights of purple-haired people in Wien through legislative amendments and new laws. But this is Wien after all: an empire, a nation built by Marklay people, born and bred from an island culture."
"Yes, I know how immense the practical difficulties are in achieving this goal. But we will not back down because of hardship."
"I apologize, but what I disagree with is not the presence of hardship, but the path you have chosen to overcome it."
"The path?"
Mr. Luther sat down with a grave expression. An objection to his path was something he could not simply brush aside.
"Yes, Mr. Luther. In my eyes, you are attempting to negotiate in the manner of a civilized gentleman with a band of brigands who are bandits to their marrow and adhere strictly to a bandit culture.
"Such negotiations are doomed never to yield the outcome you desire. In fact, the harder you struggle, the further you may find yourself from your goal."
"Heh, but looking at where we stand today, our movement has already compelled them to make concessions."
"That is because bandits excel at dressing themselves up as civilized men. They wrap themselves in plundered wealth, then sit down to play cards with you at a 'civilized' table of their own design. The moment you choose to play by those rules, you have already fallen into their rhythm."
"I cannot agree with your view, Mr. Jens. In your eyes, is violence the only way we can achieve lawful equality? Do you have any idea how many people would die if we took that road?!"
Karen shook his head. "I merely disagree with your path, but I have no better alternative to offer you. Perhaps what you are doing right now is the best available option."
"Uh..." Luther had not expected Karen to yield so easily. He immediately realized the young man was discussing the matter in earnest, and that he himself had become overly agitated. "My apologies, Mr. Jens. I lost control of my emotions just now."
"I understand. You bear an immense amount of pressure."
"Mr. Jens, do you know? I have a dream..."
Mr. Luther described the vision of the future he dreamed of: purple-haired people possessing equal rights, living in dignity in this country; Marklay children and purple-haired children playing together without regard for the color of their hair.
After finishing, Mr. Luther smiled. "I hope to see this dream become reality within my lifetime. What do you think?"
"Discrimination written into laws and regulations is easy to amend, but discrimination rooted in human hearts is difficult to change. Perhaps in the future, purple-haired people might become celebrities, members of parliament, or even the Prime Minister of Wien... yet the fundamental living conditions of the group will not have changed very much."
"Your view is far too pessimistic, Mr. Jens. I think you should be a little more optimistic."
"I accept your advice, and I wish you good health."
"Thank you, and the same to you, Mr. Reporter. Conversing with you has been a pleasure. Especially those final remarks of yours—they showed me that you're different from other journalists; you possess genuine depth. Perhaps I could invite you to be my assistant? What do you say?"
"I am sorry, but I have no personal interest in actively participating."
"Ah, that is truly a pity. But I will see you again in the future, won't I, Mr. Jens?"
"I hope to see you again as well."
***
Neo sat behind the sofa, sipping from a cold beer he had retrieved from the refrigerator. Three men sat around a circular table in the living room, completely oblivious to the flagrantly brazen eavesdropper nearby.
The man tailed earlier sat on a chair, facing a document.
The two men beside him were actively persuading him.
"Once the deed is done, our people will arrest you on the spot and escort you into the detention center. Rest assured, you will receive the utmost protection there. We will fulfill every condition promised to you: once the heat dies down, we'll arrange for you to fake your death in prison and relocate you abroad. You can buy a large estate in an imperial colony, take seven or eight concubines, and live out a wealthy life. Ah, even I can't help feeling envious of you."
Neo thought: *Then why don't you go do the assassination yourself?*
"Yes, all you need to do is follow the script we provided when answering the judge and the press afterward. Your mother was a devoted supporter of Mr. Luther, giving away her family fortune to him and even becoming his mistress, only to be abandoned by him in the end, which led to her suicide."
Hearing this, Neo glanced at the photograph hanging on the living room wall. That wrinkled, white-haired mother... a mistress?
*Sigh, Mr. Luther really didn't have it easy fighting for purple-haired civil rights.*
The man picked up the pen, signed his name, and asked, "Where's my gun? You can't expect me to assassinate him with a knife, can you? He has so many supporters guarding him."
"We brought your assassination weapon."
A leather bag was unzipped, revealing a shotgun inside.
The man looked astonished. "You're having me use this?"
"Yes. You served in the Imperial Army. Isn't crafting a homemade double-barreled shotgun using black powder as the propellant the most natural thing in the world?"
Chapter 700