Regional Chief Karen!

Crack. With a crisp snap, the gemstone embedded in the brow of the white skeleton shattered. In that instant, it lost its vitality. Like a specimen in a laboratory, holding its paintbrush and palette before the easel, it went completely still. A breeze blew in from nowhere, lifting the painting from the easel. It fluttered, drifted down to the floor, and landed face down. "Come on, let's go have a drink." Mavaglio grabbed Karen's arm. Right now, he desperately needed someone to confide in, not caring whether it made him look pathetic. He felt that doing so might siphon away a bit of the burning heat on his face. "Class isn't over yet." "Cutting class is fine. I'll cover for you." "That's not the issue." Before coming to Order University, Karen had known there would be many brilliant students and outstanding professors here, but he hadn't expected them to be this exceptional. Whether it was Hiderod's *Philosophy of Divine History* this morning or the current *Assessment and Perception of Cults*, the quality of the lectures exceeded Karen's expectations. Hiderod had offered him an alternative line of thought regarding the Mad Pope, which also held a fresh framework for explaining the end of the God of Light. This female professor, meanwhile, dissected the prophetic mechanics of the Church of the Mural God with immense clarity. Karen was certain that even Mr. Bede and Piaget themselves had probably never considered things at this level. After all, once the Church of the Mural God was branded a cult, its believers had remained, but they had long since lost their systematic foundation. The Church of Order, on the other hand, had stood firm through the ages. The accumulated wisdom, analysis, and research of generations of predecessors—the profound depth of cognition and vast reservoir of knowledge continuously stacked under such a sound system—were truly terrifying, capable of utterly crushing the former. Thus, one could say the Church of Order understood cults far better than most believers of the cults it condemned. Karen genuinely felt that attending classes here was a rare opportunity. Even after finishing this program, he would likely drop by often to audit lectures. "But I need someone to talk to right now," Mavaglio said, growing restless. "You can't leave me alone, or I might go howl outside the president's office." "Then come in and listen with me until class ends." "What?" Before Mavaglio could reply, Karen turned and walked straight back toward the rear row where he had been sitting earlier. "Hey!" Mavaglio sighed and followed him inside, sitting down beside Karen. "What's the topic of this lecture?" "It's on the Church of the Mural God." "You're interested in that?" "It's very interesting. All right, tell them to get up." Mavaglio had no choice. Resigned, he said, "Students, please rise. Professor, please proceed with the lecture." "By your will." "By your will." The students rose and returned to their seats, and the female professor made her way back behind the lectern. In an instant, what had been an ordinary lecture turned into an open exhibition class. Normally, an open class had an element of performance to it, aiming to make the classroom atmosphere as lively and dynamic as possible. After all, the lecturing professor faced the scrutiny and evaluation of visiting faculty and school leadership seated below. But this time, the one auditing from the back was a Holy Child. Even if every school leader were tied together into a bundle and dropped into the room, they wouldn't exert half the pressure of a Holy Child. The professor swallowed hard. Had she known earlier that a Holy Child would attend, she would have rehearsed her lesson plan in advance, arranged which students would raise their hands to answer questions, and even vetted their answers beforehand. Now, she could only bite the bullet and carry on. It was the same for the students. Earlier, everyone had been thrilled and excited to find Karen in the classroom. Now, no one dared to look back at Head Karen. Everyone sat bolt upright with serious expressions, "listening attentively." All of them were believers, all belonging to the hierarchy of the Church. As members of the Church, if you didn't revere "God," what else would you revere? Mavaglio whispered to Karen, "I did something remarkably stupid at her place. After we parted ways, I went back to her apartment and saw her washing dishes." "When you lived together, did you ever see her do housework?" "Never. She wouldn't even empty the trash can. I won't mind if you laugh, but I dislike having other people in my home. Having just her was stressful enough, so I didn't hire a maid. Chores like cleaning—I did them all myself. "If you asked her to carry a trash bag down on her way to work, she'd even forget that!" "And yet you say you went back and saw her washing dishes." "Wait, you're right..." Mavaglio blinked, repeating in disbelief, "She was actually washing dishes!" Karen picked up his pen and began taking notes on the key points the professor was continuing to explain. She pointed at the white skeleton and said: "Students, this is what I mentioned earlier. When a prophecy of the Church of the Mural God acts upon you, you strike back against it through the bonds of your own person and relationships. In many instances, during this process, neither the painter of the prophecy nor the subject possesses specific awareness of it. The clash and confrontation often occur invisibly. Take our Head Karen... our Student Karen, for example. When the great Holy Child appeared, the influence clinging to him was unraveled by the divinity residing within the Holy Child—it was even reversed." The professor paused, deliberately elevating the theme: "This is the blessing of the great God of Order!" Branch gods inherently depended on the principal god, so all glory ultimately belonged to the principal god. The students crossed their arms over their chests in unison. "Praise the great God of Order!" Mavaglio and Karen mirrored the gesture, though Mavaglio continued muttering under his breath, "A plate broke, and she was picking up the shards..." "How did the plate break?" "How else could it break? She dropped it by accident." "What floor is this?" "The sixth floor. This classroom, I mean." "If you jumped out that window, would you die?" "Of course not." "Then why would the plate break?" "Yeah, why would the plate break?" Mavaglio's brow furrowed slightly. "Her finger was cut by a shard, too." "So why would her finger get cut?" "Yeah, why would her finger get cut?" Mavaglio lowered his head and began to think. Things entirely routine to ordinary people were virtually impossible for certain individuals. Priests, especially high-ranking priests, were fundamentally different from commoners. After pondering for a moment without an answer, Mavaglio asked, "Why then? Did she do it on purpose? Why would she do that on purpose?" "You came to her home. You made the first move and took the initiative. She was responding to you." "You mean she was deliberately interacting with me?" A faint smile curled on Mavaglio's lips, and his eyes lit up. As an exalted Holy Child, what he feared most was making a unilateral gesture only to run into an icy wall. Karen understood his feelings well. Even setting aside his status as a Holy Child, when an ordinary person expressed goodwill or affection toward someone and got rejected, the primary reaction usually wasn't regret over a failed romance, but embarrassment and wounded pride. If one's initiative was met with a response, and one saw that the other person was echoing the sentiment, the delight of that emotional interplay was often the very first taste of romance's sweetness. Karen hadn't originally expected the Holy Child and the Regional Chief to spark any real feelings and enter a normal marriage. But looking at it now, there really seemed to be a trend in that direction. The Holy Child sitting beside him right now truly exhibited the classic drop in intelligence that came with falling in love. "What happened next? What did you do?" "Me?" Mavaglio pursed his lips, but confessed anyway. "I asked if it hurt, then picked up a shard and sliced my own finger, saying, 'It's fine, doesn't hurt much.'" Karen fell silent, lowered his head, and went back to his notes. "Was that really stupid?" Karen didn't reply. "Karen, tell me, was that really stupid?" Karen still said nothing. "It was, wasn't it? I was an idiot." The Holy Child laced his fingers on the desk, leaned back, and gazed upward. "So stupid I can hardly believe it myself. You should have seen the look in her eyes while I did all that." "It's really no big deal," Karen said. "Have you ever considered that finding someone before whom you don't need to put on airs or keep up appearances—someone with whom you can fully expose your foolishness without feeling ashamed—is actually a kind of happiness?" "That..." At the front of the hall, the professor continued her lecture. The students below listened intently, save for two "classmates" in the back row who brazenly whispered among themselves. Under normal circumstances, she would have hauled those two up to the front long ago to enforce discipline. Now, she had to carefully modulate the volume and cadence of her voice so as not to disturb their private conversation. Finally, the bell rang. Relieved of a heavy burden, the professor announced, "Class dismissed." The students let out a long breath, though none dared move. "Class is over," Mavaglio said. "Yeah." Karen gathered his notes, stood up, and walked down the aisle, with Mavaglio trailing beside him. Passing the lectern, Karen handed over his attendance form. After the professor signed it, he gave her a polite half-bow of thanks. Once Karen and Mavaglio had left, the professor repeated, "All right, class dismissed." With a rustle, the students slumped over their desks or leaned back in their chairs, every muscle in their bodies aching. *** "Do you want to switch your appearance?" Karen asked. "Do you plan to have people kneeling all the way out?" "I know." A cloud of black mist enveloped Mavaglio's form. Karen quietly slipped on a silver mask as well. "Where next?" "To your wife. She arranged the dinner." "Where is my wife?" "That isn't a question you should be asking me." Stepping out of the academic building, they saw a VIP carriage parked below the steps. Gaspol stood by the door, and someone was already seated inside. "Regional Chief," Karen greeted Gaspol. Gaspol pointed toward the carriage. "Get in. Dean Jax is inside." Jax Poli—Dean of the Department of Criminal Investigation at Order University. Most students graduating from this department went into the Whip of Order system; it was virtually the cradle for nurturing and supplying talent to the Whip of Order. The fundamental reason the Academy faction had become an undeniable political force within the Church of Order was that it controlled this pipeline of talent and enjoyed a steady stream of fresh blood. Moreover, the faction possessed a common trait: its core, or backbone, was composed largely of ordinary priests, unlike those backed by prominent families and powerful factions. In loose terms, it was a group of originally unaffiliated "young people" who huddle together for warmth, forming a power bloc made up of "young people without backgrounds." Karen stepped into the VIP carriage and offered a formal bow to Dean Jax, who was seated inside. "Lord Dean." Jax said nothing. He watched Karen complete the etiquette with a calm gaze, offering neither an affable demeanor nor a hand to cut the formality short. When Karen moved to take a seat beside the dean, Jax said coldly, "Sit in the back." Karen knew this was a deliberate test, an attempt to break his pride—what was known as "training the hawk." It was also ample proof that the Academy faction intended to accept him; otherwise, there would be no need to set rules for him right from the start. "Yes, Dean." Karen moved to the rear seat. Then, Mavaglio entered, disguised in a shroud of black mist, and noticed Karen seated in the back. At the sight, Jax's expression shifted to astonishment. He truly had not known the Holy Child would be here; clearly, Gaspol hadn't informed him beforehand. "Greetings, Lord Holy Child." "Oh, hello." Jax bowed low, prostrating himself. Mavaglio made no move to support him, nor did he tell him not to be so formal, simply watching as he completed the entire protocol. Once it seemed sufficient, Mavaglio said, "Rise." "Yes, Lord Holy Child." Jax rose. Mavaglio said, "Sit in the back." "Yes, Lord Holy Child." Dean Jax moved to the rear, sitting beside Karen. Gaspol then stepped inside, and Mavaglio sat with her in the front row. The driver started the vehicle and headed toward the school gates. There was no division between pedestrian and vehicular traffic inside Order University; after all, even massive monster beasts were allowed inside on occasion, so a vehicle like this was hardly an issue. After driving through the gates, the carriage continued along the rear side of the basin. The scenery here was splendid, featuring an expansive pool of water surrounded by a cluster of buildings that resembled a resort town. Though called a dinner gathering, the carriage didn't pull up outside a restaurant, but rather in front of an estate courtyard. Mavaglio and Gaspol stepped down first. The Holy Child walked straight to the edge of the pool, took a deep breath, and embraced nature. Because an outsider was present, Gaspol took the initiative to accompany the Holy Child, appearing very much like a gentle wife following her husband. Mavaglio suddenly smiled and said, "In the future, let's find a scenic place like this to settle down." Gaspol was slightly taken aback. This was the first time her fiancé had said such a thing to her, but her instinct made her reply: "No. I need to work to fulfill my vows to the God of Order." Mavaglio's lips parted, holding back the urge to say, *Keeping me company is the greatest contribution you could make to Order.* Instead, he rephrased it: "I meant after we grow old." "The destination for old age is the First Knight Order. That is my goal." Mavaglio grew irritated. "So the moment your physical constitution begins to decline, you plan to poison yourself immediately just to ensure your combat strength upon entering the First Knight Order?" Gaspol replied, "A decent method." Mavaglio licked his lips. "What I want is a family. I want a normal family life." Gaspol said, "In my eyes, being with you isn't life. It's work." Agitated, Mavaglio said, "I promised you I wouldn't interfere with your work. I will support your work. After all, I have work too. All I want is, outside of work, to have..." "You have already interfered with my work." "You..." "If you hadn't, I wouldn't be standing here right now, laying the groundwork for my subordinate to take over my position." "That was an accident! I told you, that was an accident!" "All I know is that you broke your promise." Mavaglio gritted his teeth and turned to look at Gaspol. Gaspol avoided his gaze. Sometimes, anger flared just like this. A couple that seemed perfectly fine a moment ago could erupt into a fierce argument over nothing. In relationships, the greatest emotional wounds didn't stem from petty squabbles or trivial matters, but from the sudden realization sparked by those trivialities, when a single question flashed through your mind: *Why do I have to spend the rest of my life with someone like this?* The breeze from the pool stirred Gaspol's hair. She reached up to brush a strand away from her lips. She had a distinct intuition—a very clear one—that her response just now had been wrong. Yet she didn't know what else to do. When her fiancé suddenly spoke like that, her instincts locked her into her established habits and cognitive patterns. Why wasn't that sharp-tongued old man here right now? *** "Aha, trouble in paradise." On the balcony of another villa in the distance, a toad lay perched before a telescope, its back emitting beams of light that projected the observed scene onto the wall. Two elderly figures stood there: one was Hiderod, and the other an elderly woman clad in somber black. The woman was Ynifre Deka Rumina, the Dean of Students at Order University. Observing through the toad was necessary because only with such "filtering" could they watch without alerting the targets. Hiderod lifted the wine glass before him, took a sip, and said, "Our granddaughter is the spitting image of you when you were young." Both elders could read lips. Ynifre cast a cold glance at Hiderod. "Their union was always about work." "Heh, our Church of Order isn't like those extremist churches that preach the suppression of human bonds and the destruction of personal desires. Besides, you're her grandmother. At a time like this, you aren't even worried about her future family life? Heh." "At least our Lord Holy Child isn't like you." "Not like me? Like what?" "Outsiders say you gave everything in our relationship, that you were the best you could be, and that our divorce was my fault alone. My late parents, my siblings, my mentors—they all thought so." "Well, yes. That's true, isn't it?" "Only you and I know the real reason behind our divorce—who pushed whom first!" "Did I push you?" Hiderod smiled, taking another sip of wine. "After the wedding, I regretted it. I realized you weren't what I had imagined. I used to think that even if you were a stone, time could warm you up. But I was wrong. You were far more immature than I thought. You were willful, selfish, self-centered in every way. You even refused to share your emotions with me, your husband, in daily life. "So once I woke up to reality, I decided to end that marriage. I refused to remain trapped in that swamp, smothered to the point where I could barely breathe. "I wanted a divorce, I wanted to leave you, but I didn't want a bad reputation, nor did I want the moral guilt. "Your parents treated me well. Your siblings helped me immensely back then. Your mentor promoted me and brought me along on rare archaeological expeditions. "Aside from you, almost everyone around you treated me wonderfully. "I could wrong you, but I couldn't wrong them. I had to give them an account." "That is what I despise most about you, and what I have hated about you all along. Hiderod, you hypocrite." "Am I a hypocrite? Yes, perhaps I am. I consistently did everything I was supposed to do, and took on everything a husband should and shouldn't do. I kept our lives, our household, your life, and your work running in immaculate order. "I wanted outsiders to see my devotion. I wanted myself to know my devotion. "And then I deliberately stopped shamelessly trying to talk to you after you got home from work every day. I deliberately stopped talking about my own work at the dinner table. I deliberately stopped asking about your troubles, even when met with icy indifference time after time. "I took excellent care of your life, but I deliberately ignored you. "Because I knew that when I tried to draw close to you before, you might have rejected me, but you enjoyed the process. When I held your cold feet to my chest time and again, you would kick me away, but you loved the interaction. "I wanted to push you past your limit. I wanted to make it unbearable for you, so that you would be the one to say: *Let's get a divorce.* "Do you know? "When you finally said those words, "I "felt an immense weight lift from my shoulders." Hiderod stretched languidly. "How wonderful it was. After leaving you, I lived freely, joyfully, comfortably. Aside from your granddaughter sensing something under your influence, everyone else in the world believes I was the one who was wronged. Haha!" Ynifre's face darkened. "I came to you and said we could start over." "Why would I start over with you? Ynifre, I had had enough of you. Truly. Did you think you would actually change? Why should I gamble on whether you'd really change? "Why would I lock myself in a cage called 'marriage' and pray every day like a worshiper, begging you to grant me a scrap of mercy? "I worship the God of Order, not you! "And besides, by what right? "By what right did you treat me that way for all those years after our wedding without the slightest burden on your conscience? "If you claim you were young, if you claim you were immature, if you claim the marriage was pushed by your parents and chosen by your parents and mentors... "Then why did you agree to become my wife at the wedding ceremony in the church? "Ynifre, didn't I warn you to stay away from your granddaughter? You didn't listen. And now look—isn't your granddaughter the spitting image of your younger self? "You're the one who recommended her for this, and before that, you didn't even notify me! "So congratulations, Ynifre. Your granddaughter is about to receive the exact same 'blessed' marriage you had. "Furthermore, Holy Children are notoriously prone to being increasingly influenced by their 'patrons' in their later years. In the history of our Church, there are plenty of Holy Children whose personalities grew extreme as they aged. "If his temperament were like that student I met today, Karen, I wouldn't be worried at all. I can sense that Karen is exceptionally clear-headed; he always knows what he wants and knows how to pursue it. "This Holy Child is different. He doesn't know what he actually wants, yet he harbors deep longings. He will chase them again and again, and when he hits a wall repeatedly, he will turn furious and despairing. "His personality is fundamentally immature. There is a deeply selfish streak in his bones, and he cannot properly plan or discipline himself. "And he cannot get a divorce." Hiderod set down his glass. "Ynifre, I'm not trying to scare you. You wouldn't want to receive news of your own granddaughter's untimely death years from now, before you yourself have passed away, would you?" *** As they stepped down from the carriage, Jax said, "It seems you have a very good relationship with the Lord Holy Child." It wasn't a question, but a statement. Karen knew Jax wouldn't alter his attitude toward him merely because of his rapport with the Holy Child. A Holy Child possessed exalted status, and everyone had to kneel before him, but a Holy Child could hardly influence the operational workings of reality. They were revered figureheads, respected and worshiped by all, yet placed too high on the altar for their hands to reach the ground below. "Yes, you could say we're good friends." "Mm." Jax nodded. "Today, I'll introduce you to some young people. I hope you can become good friends with them as well." "Young people?" "Oh, to me, they're young. To you, they're already a bit older, haha. That's also why we think so highly of you." "Thank you for your appreciation, Dean." "We merely fulfill each other's needs. This is a transaction; each of us takes what we require. If circumstances permit, we can be a bit more extravagant and layer on some emotional elements—such as your sense of belonging to us, and our deeper appreciation and recognition of you. What do you think?" "That is something worth striving for." "Very good. I like your candor." "As do I." By the edge of the pool, Mavaglio walked away abruptly. Gaspol glanced in their direction, gave Jax a slight nod, and followed after Mavaglio. Even though she had organized this gathering, she didn't have to attend. On the surface at least, her husband-to-be came first. Yet Karen noticed that this only made Mavaglio more irritated; he began swinging his sleeves violently, feeling suffocated. "Let's head inside." "Yes, Lord Dean." Karen followed Jax into the courtyard, passed through the main doors, crossed the foyer, and entered the drawing room. It was spacious and furnished with numerous large sofas, resembling a private club. In truth, the Academy faction had originated from a student society within Order University. The initial founders of that society had later attained high positions within the Church, and the society's tradition had been carried forward ever since. Over sixty people were seated in the drawing room—a far larger scale than Karen had anticipated. He had assumed there would only be three or four people meeting to go through formalities and reach a consensus. He hadn't expected an outright party. Jax clapped his hands and announced: "Now, let us welcome the newest member of our society—Head Karen of the Yorktown Region's Whip of Order!" "Cheers!" "Cheers!" Everyone raised their wine glasses or water tumblers. There was no clamor, no chaos, no shouting; everything remained gentlemanly and restrained. Next, guided by Jax with glass in hand, Karen exchanged greetings with person after person. Each introduced their post before taking a sip of wine, while Jax chimed in with brief remarks. It felt somewhat like a wedding banquet where the groom was being led around to meet the relatives. In essence, it was much the same. People needed an occasion and a medium to get acquainted. This society served as the wedding, providing a platform through which everyone wove a new network of relationships to form a circle. Meeting relatives at a wedding was also a way to expand one's network. Throughout history, many prominent figures had leveraged connections from their spouse's side to achieve greatness. For most ordinary people, however, such heights were out of reach, so the practice was reduced to mere formality. Karen didn't particularly care for the atmosphere, but he didn't dislike it either, as everyone was polite and well-mannered. This was precisely why the Academy faction had always remained a centrist bloc within the Church. Its organizational structure and composition dictated that it could rarely achieve tight cohesion, and without high cohesion, it naturally lacked fierce combat strength. At the same time, it ensured a solid baseline. Thus, the Academy faction maintained a steady presence within the Church of Order, though its influence remained limited to being merely "present." The three highest-ranking figures at this gathering were saved for last. They weren't in the drawing room, but in a private study. When Jax brought Karen inside, the three were enjoying tea. One was Jakes Morwensen, ranked third among the vice deans of Order University. He wielded immense authority, as many of those ranked above him held purely honorary titles without administrative responsibilities. Another was Andilao Kaff, Head of the Discipline Inspection Department of the Whip of Order. Though both held the title of Head, Karen belonged to a local region, whereas he hailed from headquarters. The third was Pare Seton, Director of the Foreign Affairs Office of the Containment Space. The Containment Space was a high-level department, and its Foreign Affairs Office effectively controlled the loaning and deployment of divine artifacts. These three were indisputably titanic figures within their respective sectors. Normally, they were impossible to meet, and any request for an appointment would be tossed straight into the wastebasket. Their presence here today was the highest courtesy and regard they could show Karen. Jakes remarked, "Mm, so young. An enviable age, coveted youth, a promising future." Andilao said, "The Whip-Wielder has mentioned you several times, Karen. I can tell you with absolute certainty that your name is firmly etched in his memory." Pare chuckled. "If you ever need to apply to borrow a divine artifact in the future, contact my office secretary to make the arrangements, haha." Jax added, "Regional Chief Gaspol is currently taking a stroll by the lake with the Lord Holy Child." Jakes said, "She has more important work to attend to now. It's time she laid down her burdens for a while." Andilao said, "I will oversee the nomination for Karen as the new Regional Chief. I am confident it will pass smoothly with the Whip-Wielder." Pare rose, walked behind Karen, and patted him on the shoulders with both hands. Smiling, he said: "Then I'll be waiting to send an official congratulatory letter to our Head Karen, hahaha. "Oh, no. "Rather... "Regional Chief Karen."