"That princess sister from Dark Moon Island doesn't seem to have come along."
Ventura struck up the conversation with a grin, chewing on a piece of cream cake. His grandmother had baked it herself. Since his promotion and pay raise, his grandmother had taken to adding extra cream bought with point coupons whenever she baked, though that special cream was reserved for his colleagues and the section chief. Ventura himself always ate the plain, ordinary kind.
"Tell me, is that something you need to be concerned about?" Muri looked down at the boy. "No superior likes having their subordinates pry into their private life."
"I'm just chatting with you. What, are you going to report me to Mr. Alfred, or stand up and criticize me at the next reading salon?"
Ventura was closest to Muri. After all, they had entered the performance hall in the same batch and often joked among themselves that they were the first cohort.
Philomena belonged to the second cohort, while Leon and Vic were the third.
Muri gave a faint smile. "You're welcome to take the initiative at the next reading salon and criticize the section chief's romantic life."
"You're too wicked."
Ventura devoured the last morsel of cake, licked the cream off his fingers, and picked up two fallen leaves from the ground to wipe his hands.
Muri said, "Ophelia belongs to Son of God Mavaglio's department, not our system. To put it more bluntly, if we want to firmly bring this force of Dark Moon warriors under our control, stripping away Dark Moon Island's influence over them is our foremost priority. Not just today, but going forward as well, we must minimize any substantive contact between the princess and these Dark Moon warriors.
"Mr. Alfred has already dropped hints to Son of God Mavaglio. For the time being, Her Highness Ophelia will remain thoroughly occupied with scientific research."
"That's what I was getting at, but it's going to be terribly difficult. Dark Moon Island is their homeland, after all. Many of them still have parents, or even wives and children, back on the island."
Muri shook his head, correcting him. "We aren't demanding they betray Dark Moon Island. We want them to understand that we represent a more advanced and superior choice for Dark Moon.
"Just as Mr. Alfred said, we aren't rebelling against Order; we are setting out to build a better new order."
"You've memorized that quite well."
"One has to truly understand it. I think you should spend more effort on these concepts. A solid theoretical foundation is what properly guides practice."
"Doesn't matter to me." Ventura produced a signal flare from the pocket of his clerical robe. "All I know is that the old master of the Inmeles family gave me my life, and the young master of the Inmeles family gave me everything I have now."
"The section chief wouldn't appreciate that way of thinking."
Ventura remained indifferent. "It's enough to let you clever people handle the business. There always has to be someone thick-headed like me..."
"Heh, to do what?"
"To keep an eye on you clever people."
The scene fell quiet for a moment.
Ventura hastened to soften his words. "Muri, I don't mean you."
"I know." Muri nodded. "I can only take it to mean that when certain people are too clever, they need individuals with the firmest principles and convictions to balance them out. Otherwise, their cleverness might steer the team right off a cliff."
Neither mentioned a name, but both knew exactly which clever person they meant: Vic.
Among the five core followers, four shared deep, binding ties with Karen himself. Only Vic was an opportunist.
Moreover, when everyone had fallen unconscious in the cavern, Vic had given the order to abandon the section chief and retreat. Once they woke up, they could understand his decision rationally, but accepting it emotionally was far harder.
Muri said, "Fire the flare. Let's sweep the road from here to the manor."
"Right."
Ventura pulled the cap off, and the flare shot into the sky, bursting in total silence.
Immediately,
Ahead of where the two stood, Whip of Order squads emerged from concealed positions, swiftly fanning out to search and sweep the terrain, eliminating any potential threats.
A full twenty squads had been deployed, half of them comprised of Dark Moon warriors.
Muri rested a hand on Ventura's shoulder. Ventura patted his chest, his frame expanding until he became a towering stone giant.
Leveraging Ventura's shoulder with his wrist, Muri hoisted himself up, stepping smoothly onto the giant's shoulder to survey the surroundings from above.
The stone giant began to march forward, and the surrounding Whip of Order squads pushed outward in a wide circle centered on the giant.
Behind them approached the VIP motorcade.
***
"This way, Bishop Delon." Leon was personally attending to Delon.
Leon was the sole surviving descendant of the previous Head Bishop, while Delon was an old subordinate of that same bishop. A generational friendship linked their families, so Delon treated him with utmost courtesy rather than regarding him merely as a junior.
Of course, Old Man Delon hadn't come today solely out of sentiment for old ties. The one who had genuinely requested this favor was his own maternal grandson.
The official pretext was exceedingly simple: an Order Inquisitor whose jurisdiction covered Allen Manor had reported traces of monster beasts in the surrounding forested hills. After the report was filed, the Whip of Order dispatched a squad to investigate. Upon receiving their findings, they decided to bolster defenses by using the manor as a foothold to erect a small defensive array against future incursions.
The relevant department of the Whip of Order forwarded the formal request for assistance to the Regional Administrative Office, which routinely passed it on to the Formation Department.
In the end, the bishop overseeing the region's formation affairs felt the weather was fine today—or perhaps that anything concerning Order's stability was a matter of gravity—and decided to come in person.
Not only had he come himself, but he had also brought along a cadre of his department's finest array masters, including several section chiefs and directors.
Such was the power of networking, a cascading display of authority and influence.
Delon was willing to help his grandson, but his willingness alone wouldn't have brought along so many high-ranking personnel from his department. At the end of the day, they had come out of respect for "Section Chief Karen."
The most prominent trait of regional favoritism, or factionalism, was that within a specific sphere, the will of a single person or group could slice clean through the boundaries separating systemic departments.
Karen now commanded precisely such standing in the Yorktown Region. Especially after emerging alive from the cavern, everyone knew his prospects were boundless. Years from now, if anyone from Yorktown were to claim a seat at the Church's Round Table, it would undoubtedly be him.
What regional leadership wouldn't want one of their own at the core of the Church?
After all, having someone inside the Holy City made every conversation easier.
"Give me the master blueprint. I take it you're prepared?" Delon asked.
"Yes, all prepared." Leon pulled out the blueprint and unfolded it.
Unfolded... unfolded... unfolded...
Unfolding it took quite a while, because the parchment was colossal.
This scheme was something Karen had personally requested from Master Piro when the master came to visit him after attending Neo's memorial service.
It had arrived so swiftly because Master Piro had simply tossed over a reproduction of a defensive array blueprint designed for a permanent camp in an exploratory pocket realm.
One could say Master Piro's fondness for his student Karen ran down to the marrow of his bones.
After all, this was a permanent camp defensive array meant for confronting unknown, mystical hazards in pioneer territories—a strictly classified formation document.
Delon's eyelids twitched. He lowered his voice. "Are you planning to build another Church Affairs Building out here?"
Leon replied with a smile, "It should be far simpler than the Church Affairs Building."
"Yet purely from the standpoint of defense, detection, and screening, it doesn't fall short of the Church Affairs Building in the slightest! I had no idea you were mounting an operation on this scale. I did bring some formation materials from our depot, but for a project this massive, they won't even scratch the surface."
"Please put your mind at ease. The materials are already fully stocked at the manor."
"Oh?" Delon froze momentarily. "You certainly came prepared."
Delon glanced behind him. Servants of the manor were serving tea and pastries to the array masters he had brought. Beneath every tea saucer rested a black envelope.
The envelopes weren't thick, but that didn't mean they held few point coupons. It meant they contained anonymous bank cards issued by black-market private banks, pre-loaded with substantial sums.
Delon's brow furrowed slightly. Good heavens—they were bribing his men right in front of him!
In the past, the old man would have lost his temper and started railing at such a sight.
He endured it today only for the sake of his grandson. Well... and because his wife had come along too.
Leon noticed Delon's shifting expression and said with a warm smile, "Your Excellency, this is merely tea gratuity. When the harvest is busy and one asks neighbors to lend a hand, or when one hires help to put up a building, it's customary to prepare a small token. It's an old Wien tradition."
"Hah, tradition? They are Order priests!" The old man still harbored some irritation.
"Yet today is a rest day, a statutory regional holiday. Everyone is off duty on their personal time, merely earning a little extra. Furthermore, we have an official request for assistance already on file. No one can find fault with this."
*I prepared the materials, I prepared the pay, and you are on your break. How can this possibly be considered a violation?*
At that moment, several section chiefs holding envelopes looked toward Delon, waiting for his cue. They had once been Delon's students.
Delon let out a helpless sigh. "Consider this a personal favor."
Only then did broad smiles appear on their faces as they slipped the envelopes into their pockets.
They belonged to the upper-middle ranks of the region's clergy, but that hardly meant they were wealthy. In reality, the vast majority of Order priests in the region lived strictly on their stipends.
Departments offering lucrative kickbacks and opportunities for embezzlement existed, but they were confined to a handful of minor posts and had nothing to do with most priests.
Moreover, following the recent crackdown launched by the new Head Bishop, numerous bishops and senior clerics had been dismissed and imprisoned. The institutional atmosphere had cleared considerably, leaving few daring enough to dip their hands into the grease.
Array masters, meanwhile, loved researching and testing new formations, and formation materials were notoriously expensive. The higher their rank, the more they indulged in high-end arrays. While most of the directors and section chiefs present lived comfortable civilian lives, they were practically destitute when it came to point coupons. Receiving such a handsome sum of pocket money delighted them greatly.
Naturally, purchasing these formation materials and paying the tea gratuities had nearly drained the Allen Manor's earnings from the past year. Yet Old Anderson felt not the slightest grievance. This was a family defense array!
Even in the family's glory days, they could never have enlisted so many distinguished figures from the Church of Order to assist them!
Though nearly all future family income would go toward maintaining the array, Old Anderson still deemed it extraordinarily worthwhile. Compared to wealth or stone castles, the most precious heirloom that could truly endure across generations was this formation.
Delon waved his hand and shouted, "All right, let's get to work!"
He had assumed coming out this morning with so many hands would let them finish the array in under half an hour, provided the foundational work was ready. Looking at the sheer scale now, they would likely be laboring from morning straight through to the dead of night.
"Ah..."
Delon braced his hands against his hips and sighed again, a bitter grimace on his face.
"This old back of mine is going to break today."
***
"He has the nerve to prop his back and sigh? That old bastard probably hasn't put his back to use in years."
Before a third-floor window of the castle, Madam Tangli looked down at her husband bustling about with his crew.
"Madam, please have some tea."
At the bedroom doorway, Eunice took the tea tray from the maid and carried it over to Madam Tangli herself.
Madam Tangli turned to look at Eunice, a gentle smile spreading across her face. As she accepted the teacup, she placed a pair of silver bracelets into Eunice's palm.
"Thank you for the gift, Madam."
Eunice did not decline, slipping the bracelets onto her wrists in front of Madam Tangli. She recognized them as sacred artifacts; having reached Rank 5 in the family's faith system and nearing a breakthrough to Rank 6, she could distinctly perceive the fluctuations of power within the silver bands.
"When I was pregnant, I wore them constantly. They are good for the body and protect against minor bumps and falls."
"Understood. I will remember that."
"Heh."
Madam Tangli had appeared unannounced in Eunice's bedroom, bluntly introducing herself as Karen's elder.
Yet the young woman hadn't shown the slightest panic, accepting her sudden presence with utter composure before personally serving her tea.
She was exceedingly beautiful, with an elegant figure, clearly possessing a gentle temperament alongside refined social grace.
As for matters like faith systems, bloodline, or innate talent, Madam Tangli ignored them entirely. She lacked none of those things herself, so she cared nothing for them.
Her grandson's taste in a wife truly mirrored his grandfather's.
Wait, no—this granddaughter-in-law had been personally selected by Karen's grandfather Diss.
So what did that prove?
It proved that the way Diss chose a partner remained identical to his youth.
Then again, given her own stubborn, fiery temper back in the day, Delon was probably the only man capable of enduring her unconditionally.
"Karen speaks of you often. His fiancée is never far from his lips."
Eunice smiled warmly. "I have been remiss in my etiquette. By right, I should have been the one to pay you a visit."
"No need for that. His work is busy right now, and perilous..."
"I know. I will not distract him."
"That isn't what I meant. I mean that he has a great deal to accomplish over the next few years. Only once he has settled the matters before him can the two of you enjoy a truly peaceful life. Ah, well, you surely understand this already."
"Yes. I know how heavy a burden he carries."
"Ah."
Madam Tangli took a sip of tea and looked back out the window at her husband hard at work.
Her husband was cheerful; he had believed all along that Karen had returned alive from the cavern early on, merely bearing severe injuries, so his only concern was Karen's physical recovery.
She, however, had lived in terror for nearly half a month, weeping in secret night after night, dreading the possibility that Karen might never return.
That fellow, even wrapped in bandages, veiled in pollution to block detection, imitating Karen to perfection down to every gesture, habit, and inflection...
Still, how could a grandmother fail to recognize her own grandson?
Whether someone was genuine, whether it was truly him—she knew the instant she stood before him.
So two nights ago, when Karen called and she answered, the moment he called out "Grandma," Madam Tangli had broken down in tears.
When Karen subsequently asked for a favor from his grandfather, Madam Tangli had agreed on the spot without consulting her husband.
Refuse? He wouldn't dare—she'd chop him to pieces!
The joy of her grandson's return was enough to sweep away every shred of a grandmother's reason.
She had accompanied them today partly to meet Karen's fiancée, but mostly to serve as an overseer.
***
"Truly, thank you for accommodating us this time."
"Think nothing of it. Whether out of respect for you or Section Chief Karen, granting this convenience is only right."
"Shall we see each other tomorrow evening, then?"
"Certainly. Until tomorrow evening."
Vic stepped out of the Sealed Space office, having just wrapped up a discreet arrangement.
Section Chief Karen had submitted an application to utilize the "Harp of Goddess Mills" on the pretext of needing artifact-grade power to purge his body of pollution.
Under normal regulations, using a divine artifact not only required a dedicated receiving altar, but also required personnel from the Sealed Space office to supervise on-site to prevent divine power from leaking.
Vic's purpose here had been to trade on reputation—first Karen's, then his mentor's.
Although his mentor, Rasma, had been labeled by leadership trends as a representative of the conservative faction, bogging down Vic's career prospects, Rasma had served in the Sealed Space before becoming High Priest and left behind several lingering favors.
Now, his student was putting them to use.
The Harp of Goddess Mills wasn't meant for cleansing pollution; it was meant to purify someone into an Order servant. How could they possibly allow Sealed Space personnel to observe the ritual?
Fortunately, the Sealed Space had its own established system of side perks and gray benefits. Whenever other departments requested the use of a divine artifact, they routinely performed a few extra tasks within reasonable bounds. It was much like going through the ordeal of securing a rare, high-precision instrument under the guise of one experimental project—who would be foolish enough to run just one test and stop? As long as time permitted, they would cram in as many as possible.
Thus, extra compensation and personal connections were needed to muzzle the Sealed Space clerics, prompting them to turn a blind eye.
Stepping out into the biting wind, Vic let out a long breath.
His assignment was complete.
Unable to help himself, he slapped his own cheek with a sharp *smack*.
"Who told you to flap your mouth back then? Did nobody else have a mouth?"
Then he reconsidered: among the core subordinates back in the cavern, everyone else had been severely wounded and unconscious except for him.
"Ugh."
Vic dragged a hand through his hair in deep frustration.
"Next time... next time I'm charging in too! The worst that happens is getting knocked out along with the rest. Dammit, no wonder Leon charged in first."
***
A motorcade of seven vehicles traveled along the road, with Karen seated in the VIP carriage at the center.
Little Kanna sat in the seat ahead of him, while Philomena occupied the seat behind him.
Karen possessed no power at the moment, making his situation precarious. Ever since his return, Kanna hadn't left his side, and Philomena's duty had shifted to around-the-clock protection.
This grand escort wasn't put on for show; it was an absolute necessity for security.
Only yesterday, the Whip of Order had apprehended two suspects. According to their confessions, at least three factions were currently plotting an assassination, hoping to strike while he was "severely wounded and polluted."
This forced Karen to reflect on his past conduct. What on earth had he done to make so many enemies yearn for his death?
The conclusion of his reflection was... in the future, he had to wipe out his enemies far more thoroughly, ensuring they could reunite peacefully beneath the soil.
Of course, the grand display served another purpose: concealment.
The performance hall within Allen Manor held his greatest secret and was the linchpin of his future advancement. It demanded the most comprehensive protection possible, a matter where no expense could be spared.
Rather than sneaking around, it was far better to operate openly under the sun. Laying the secret out in plain sight made it far less likely to arouse outside suspicion.
Let the world believe the section chief was simply securing benefits for his wife's family. Heh.
In essence, Karen finally possessed the confidence to safeguard his own secrets.
Alfred, who was driving, spoke up. "Young Master, did you look over the proposal I submitted last night?"
Stroking the fur along Purr's back as she rested in his lap, Karen nodded. "I read it."
"Are you unsatisfied, Young Master?" Alfred knew that had Karen been pleased, he would have added an affirming "it's fine."
"Yes, I'm unsatisfied."
"Your career path has been cleared smooth by the cavern pollution incident. Under current circumstances, once you 'recover from your injuries' and complete your participation in the Desert Church civil war investigation team and the Order Church University society, so long as Regional Director Gaspol steps down swiftly, you can naturally succeed her as Regional Director."
"I know."
"Therefore, arrangements must be made in advance so everything connects seamlessly without wasting time. Young Master, our time is precious."
"I understand, but the scheme in your proposal is too aggressive."
Aggressive was an understatement... some of those methods bordered on downright foul.
"But Young Master, she has only just assumed the post of Regional Director. Without drastic measures, getting her to step aside will be exceedingly difficult.
"Once you join that university society and are embraced by the academic faction as one of their own, having you replace Gaspol will also maximize the faction's interests. After all, you are far younger than her, and your future prospects are incomparably brighter."
"Alfred, I'm not blaming you."
"I understand, Young Master."
Alfred smiled. He never feared that submitting a sinister plan would sour his young master's impression of him. He had long defined his own role in his heart: he was his young master's white glove.
"However, I have a better approach."
"Young Master, please enlighten me."
"Once matters at the manor are settled, I will pay frequent visits to Regional Director Gaspol and Son of God Mavaglio to help foster their relationship. A newly betrothed couple requires a bit of psychological counseling; it promotes marital harmony later on."
"Uh... Young Master, and then?"
Karen's fingertips lightly stroked Purr's tail as he spoke.
"There is one circumstance that would make the leadership, the faction, and even Gaspol herself agree that she ought to step down from her current post, as it would no longer be suitable for her to continue working."
"You mean, Young Master...?"
Purr looked up at Karen curiously, asking, "What method, meow?"
Karen reached out and patted Purr on the head. "The one you used to shout all the time."
"The one I used to shout?"
Karen nodded and replied,
"Get her pregnant."
Chapter 720