Life's Bastard

One was far from enough. So long as conditions permitted, Karen was willing to keep playing this game with them until no one else remained at the table except himself. Demetria's head swayed at Karen's waist. Karen reached down, took hold of her ear, and shifted it back against his flank. He recalled her earlier introduction: Captain of the Nightfall Watchers elite squad of the Church of the Night God. Well, the title had the distinct flair of gold leaf fluttering through the air. In every church, certain positions existed solely to give outstanding youths experience—a quick way to pad their credentials and gild their reputations. Her family background, therefore, had to be extraordinary. As for her talent, that was beyond question; after all, among peers of their generation, forcing Karen to take the fight seriously was the best proof possible. The difference was that she had only needed to focus on this final battle of her life, whereas Karen not only had to stay alert for enemy reinforcements, but also calculate his expenditure and losses in every encounter. Karen pulled a cigarette case from his pocket, took out a Church of Thunder cigarette, bent down, and lit it against the scorching heat of the ground. Drawing a deep breath of smoke, he suppressed the restless stirrings of the hunger addiction deep within his soul. Using the hunger addiction's power to break her psychic assault had been the lowest-cost choice after weighing his options. He could certainly have resisted that psychic attack through many other means, but that would have slowed the pace of ending the fight. "All right, all right, settle down. If push comes to shove, I'll catch a prey's soul and feed it to you next chance I get." Whether it was because the agitation had run its course or Karen's comforting promise had genuinely worked, the tearing sensation in his soul actually began to subside. "Heh." Karen gave a chuckle, took another drag, and rather wastefully flicked the long remaining stub to the ground. There was no need to crush it with his boot, as the blistering sand swiftly ignited it completely. If the body were compared to a house, then the soul was its most private and essential master bedroom. At present, he was merely the master of the house in name—the deed bore his name, but he couldn't even touch the master bedroom. Fortunately, the hunger addiction merely wanted to devour him and gain a new life of its own; it only wanted to change the name on the deed, not burn the house down. Karen turned his senses toward the two auras. One remained stationary where it was, while the other was on the move—not drawing closer, but retreating. Karen had no intention of pursuing the sensible one. To save time, his figure dissolved into black mist and drifted toward the one staying in place. The terrain of a desert was often monotonous, and in such surroundings, one's eyes would instinctively seek out something substantial to rest upon. Such as in the center of that expanse of quicksand, where stood a bald young man clad in black-and-white priestly robes. Beneath his feet lay a wooden staff; from its ends, tender shoots continuously sprouted, budded, bloomed, and rapidly withered away in an endless cycle. He was Daliwenluo, a believer of the Church of Life. The Church of Life boasted a long history. Strictly speaking, it had existed for nearly twice as long as the Church of Order, as the God of Life who founded it was a deity of the Eternal camp. However, during the divine war between the Light camp and the Eternal camp, a branch god of the Church of Life defected to the Light camp. When Light triumphed over Eternal, this defected branch god naturally supplanted the original main god, becoming the Church of Life's new chief deity. In church history, they were referred to as the Greater God of Life and the Lesser God of Life. The reason for this distinction was that church historians generally believed the two Gods of Life did not represent a genuine succession or rebellion, but rather hedging their bets on both sides. The strongest evidence was that even after the Lesser God of Life replaced the Greater God of Life, the latter's standing in the mythological accounts of the Church of Life remained coequal. For that reason, when the God of Light carved up spheres of influence at the victory banquet on Mount Anlamende, the old privileges and territories of the Church of Life were stripped away and divided. Though nominally among the victors, the Church of Life lost many vested interests and suffered widespread suppression. Not only did the chief gods of the Light faction collude in suppressing and dismantling it, but during the era when the God of Order reigned supreme, the God of Order personally visited the Garden of Life to hold the God of Life accountable for a certain offense. The records of that incident were rather amusing. The Church of Order recorded that the God of Order went to bring charges, and the God of Life humbly acknowledged his faults and accepted Order's punishment. The mythological accounts of the Church of Life recorded that the God of Order came as an invited guest to the Garden of Life, where the God of Life served vintage nectar of life, and the two chief gods conversed delightfully over drinks. The mythological records of other churches pulled no punches whatsoever: they recorded that on that day, more than half the ground in the Garden of Life collapsed, countless rare beasts and exotic creatures were reduced to dust, and the Lesser God of Life was battered so violently by the God of Order that his divine body nearly shattered, forcing him to summon the Greater God of Life who had been slumbering in hiding. Even joining forces against the God of Order, the two Gods of Life were still no match for him and were ultimately forced to flee together into the Tree of Life. The Church of Principles was particularly detailed on this matter, as they loved nothing more than recording other deities adopting the posture of "pupils" seeking advice from their God of Principles, making their own chief deity appear profoundly learned. According to the accounts of the Church of Principles, the God of Order used divine intent that day to inquire of the God of Principles how to uproot the Tree of Life. The God of Principles provided a method, but the God of Order found it far too tedious, so he slashed the Tree of Life askew with the Sword of Chaos and left. As for why the Church of Order did not dwell on such a splendid episode, it was because there were far too many similar tales, forcing later generations of the Church of Order to sanitize and polish the events for propriety's sake. Particularly in the current era, when the Church of Order and the Church of Light stood as the two opposing rival camps, if you wanted to rally other churches to your side, having your sacred texts record in vivid detail how your chief god had humiliated theirs looked rather disgraceful. Furthermore, in the current era, the Church of Life stood with the Light camp. After the demise of the Church of Light, Budalas, the High Priest of the Church of Order at the time, personally presided over the purge of Light and its affiliated camp. During that period, the Church of Life was stripped of absolute control over more than a dozen holy lands and was forced to share parts of its sacred Law of Life sequences. Today, the Church of Life's influence can still be seen in the church hospitals and cutting-edge pharmaceutics across many denominations. Yet even so, the Church of Life still maintained its standing as an orthodox church—proof of just how profound the foundations of this ancient faith spanning three eras truly were. At this moment, Daliwenluo raised his head and watched the dark mist drifting toward him, a complex look in his eyes. He knew what the fading of Demetria's aura signified, but he felt no fear—partly out of absolute confidence in his own strength, and partly due to the natural antagonism that had spanned two eras between the Church of Life and the Church of Order. Yet, he admired Karen. Among this group of youths from various churches, he had always remained quiet and reserved. Deep in his bones, he felt inferior, especially amid these youths of distinguished lineage. Daliwenluo's mother had supposedly conceived him during an afternoon nap beside the Pool of Life; but such a mythic tale was merely a beautiful lie concocted by church authorities to burnish his image after his talent carried him to prominence. Before his rise, Daliwenluo had a sharp little nickname: bastard. His mother had not conceived him from a dream of the God of Life's blessing; in truth, she had been violated. He was the living brand of his mother's humiliation. His mother directed all her fury and resentment onto him, so his childhood was spent enduring the sneers of outsiders and the curses of his own mother. He did not hate his mother, for she had given him life. Yet, on the night after he came of age and made a name for himself—his talent and capability earning high praise from his instructors—his mother fixed her makeup and demanded that he accompany her to his "father's" house to claim kinship. He nodded. And that very night, he strangled his mother with his own vines, watching her struggle until her final breath escaped. Afterward, he absorbed her remains completely using his natal ivy. This was standard procedure for a deceased priest of the Church of Life: to be absorbed by colleagues or relatives, becoming fresh nourishment for their life. To the outside world, it was proclaimed that his mother's flame of life had extinguished—a natural death. Many attended the coffinless funeral traditional to the Church of Life. His teachers and peers urged him to restrain his grief; no one doubted the truth of her passing, just as no one back then had cared about what became of a violated servant of Life. Years later, new lies emerged, claiming that his mother had conceived him in the Pool of Life, and after seeing him grow up into an outstanding man, she departed with a smile, as if having fulfilled her glorious mission. As your status climbs and your talent shines brighter, the halo about you grows ever more radiant, until everything around you becomes distorted through a flattering lens in the eyes of outsiders. He had not killed his mother out of hatred. Back then, after being violated, the reason she chose to bear him was to use the child to gain acceptance from that man's clan, hoping that one day she could knock on their door cradling a living baby in her arms. She failed. That family's status was far too exalted, and after the folly of his youth, the man had married a woman who could better aid his clerical career. Afterward, every six months or a year, sudden bouts of resentment, fury, and torment would drive her to abuse her son. As a priest, even of the lowest rank, she had far more ways to torment a child than an ordinary woman. Daliwenluo could not recall how many times he had knelt outside that clan's gates on snowy nights, battered and bleeding all over, nor how many times he had been poisoned by his mother, clawing at their doorsteps in agonizing pain... His body bore numerous scars inflicted through bizarre methods. God only knew where a woman who had remained a servant all her life had learned such insidious craft—the scars she left on him not only refused to heal with time, but even the physicians at church hospitals were powerless to fully repair them. Whenever they were treated, the same scars would soon resurface in the exact same places. He did not hate her, but his flesh and soul would forever remember everything she had done to him. When he was sixteen, through the joint recommendation of his mentors, he gained the opportunity to train in the Garden of Life—a step that all but guaranteed a brilliant future. He returned home and shared the joyful news with her. He hoped she could let it go, for he understood the humiliation she had suffered; above all, he could choose not to hate her for everything she had done to him since childhood. Truly, he could. Yet the gears of fate had ensnared her long ago, and she had grown used to turning them herself to grind everything down, dragging in whatever she could reach to suffer alongside her; otherwise, her heart could never find peace. She said, "Take this news to his house. His family will open their doors to you—and to me." Hearing his mother's words, Daliwenluo felt tired. He did not hate her; he even pitied her—pitied this wretched, cowardly, selfish woman. Yet the exhaustion was simply too profound. To live bearing the shackles of life was a disrespect to life itself. So he strangled his shackles to death. He felt inferior, a habit born of years and decades. It was not that he truly believed himself lesser, but rather that there were things ordinary people could do that he simply could not; he recoiled from the bright and the splendid, and from those who shone brightly. Hence, he envied Karen. The Church of Order was the world's foremost church, and whatever happened within Order invariably drew the attention of the entire clerical world. Karen was young, exceedingly handsome, and boasted both a stellar record and rapid promotions, naturally garnering enormous renown. When walking across the Order University campus, he even had to wear a mask. Among other churches, Karen was equally popular. Daliwenluo had seen Karen's photographs in newspapers; Karen's expressions and demeanor during interviews had left a deep impression on him. He had also watched the broadcast of Karen at the Order Tribunal—an orphan who had achieved so much. The distortions cast by flattering filters did not apply only to Daliwenluo; within the Church of Order and beyond, various versions of Karen's background circulated. Born an orphan, having witnessed the warmth and cruelty of human nature and endured the chaos and disorder of the bottom rungs, Karen had come to understand the importance of order at a tender age, inspiring him to become a faithful follower of Order. Daliwenluo deeply envied Karen's decency in word and deed. He envied it, and he craved it with near obsessive fervor. Thus, while others had come to hunt heads, he had not; he had come to flay skin. He wanted to meticulously peel off Karen's skin and drape it over himself as a blanket when he went to sleep at night. He believed that if he possessed this skin, he too might obtain that same decency. Neo, who had invented the spell "Decent Burial," had once cursed at Karen: "Oh, this damned decency of yours makes a man want to peel off your skin." It had to be said that the old hound's words held a certain foresight, for today, someone had indeed come to flay him. However, when Karen appeared before him and he saw Demetria's severed head tied to Karen's waist, he frowned slightly, pointed, and said: "This is very indecent." "Hm?" Karen had not expected these to be his opponent's opening words upon meeting, but he replied earnestly nonetheless, "My apologies. I have no other proper way to store her for now, but I have already applied a purification spell to her head, which effectively preserves it." "That's not what I meant." "Oh, I see." Karen untied Demetria's head and set it down on the sand beside him. Then, Karen smoothed his priestly robe, ensured everything was in order, and looked toward Daliwenluo. "Greetings." "Greetings. Daliwenluo of the Church of Life. I have no surname, because I'm a bastard—my father wouldn't acknowledge me." "Karen of the Church of Order. I won't bother mentioning my surname either; it was chosen at random anyway." Daliwenluo smiled. Yes, he relished this feeling. Only, he misunderstood one detail: he assumed Karen meant that because he was an orphan, his surname had been picked arbitrarily. "I've known of you for a long time." Daliwenluo licked his lips. "I admire you greatly. I even collect photographs of you, and I wrote you several letters. Thank you for replying. Even though the encouragement in your letters was of no use to me, I loved the scent of the stationery." The letters hadn't been answered by Karen. People from inside and outside the church sent Karen letters, but they were all routed to the intelligence office managed by Richard. Richard would screen and grade the senders, mailing postcards to low-tier correspondents and forging Karen's "handwritten replies" for high-tier ones; after all, whenever Jerry possessed his thoughts, none of that was an issue. "Thank you," Karen said with a smile. "Turn back now and promise not to interfere in what follows, and I won't kill you." Daliwenluo shook his head and said, "You misunderstand. I'm not speaking pleasantly to beg for mercy. I admire you, which is why I want your skin. When I kill you shortly, I'll do my best not to damage your body too much. Heh, you actually thought I was begging for your mercy? Is this kindness you're showing me?" Karen shook his head as well and replied, "No, you've misunderstood too. I'm not showing you kindness." Then Karen pointed a finger at his own head and continued: "You're bald. Once I chop off your head, it won't be convenient to tie to my waist. I find it troublesome." Daliwenluo's mouth parted, and a faint blush actually crept onto his cheeks. At that moment, almost unable to restrain himself, he bowed slightly to Karen, mimicking Karen's tone: "I am truly sorry for the inconvenience."