Going Home!

Two three-meter-long lounge chairs were carried upstairs by Little Kanna, one in each hand. Arriving on the second-floor terrace, she set them down. She deliberately peered from behind one chair toward the other, and only after confirming they were aligned did Little Kanna lie back on one with deep satisfaction. Having just swallowed her medicinal pill, she was growing drowsy and ready for a nap. Purr’s domestic upbringing had clearly been a resounding success; even out in the world, the little bone dragon meticulously followed the household routine. Karen came out onto the terrace holding a cup in his left hand, an insulated ice bucket in his right, and a copy of the *Order Weekly* tucked under his arm. Sipping ice water while reading the newspaper in a desert oasis was truly a pleasant indulgence. Some time had passed since they reached the contact station. Karen had already submitted the investigation team's situation report, the combat record report, and the administrative observation report. Those dozens of severed heads had likely made the rounds among the church’s high leadership by now, and on the front page of the second section of today’s newly arrived *Order Weekly*, there was a massive photo of a pyramid built of those heads. Penned personally by the editor-in-chief of *Order Weekly*, a massive expanse of ink was spent dramatically highlighting Karen’s latest feat. It was written with great finesse, brimming with emotion, soaring with passion, and surging with fervor. It was so vivid that even Karen found himself wanting to meet this "Karen" depicted in the pages. One could only say that the editor-in-chief truly lived up to his title; such mastery of the pen was genuinely admirable. In times of peril, his thoughts were fixed solely on Order; in the darkest hours, his faith in Order ignited an even more tenacious fighting spirit. The honorable editor had used layer upon layer of parallel phrasing to portray "Karen's" inner thoughts at the time. Reading along, Karen could not help chuckling, finding the whole thing amusing yet utterly foreign. He could not return just yet because his current status was rather awkward. In name, he remained a member of the investigation team. Though the team was now virtually wiped out, even if the men fell, the framework had to stand. He had even received an appointment from within the church, naming him acting deputy head of the investigation team. Although it was merely temporary, and merely a deputy position, for Karen at his current level, such a post was still an extraordinary leap upward. Yet who could fault them? After the investigation team’s destruction, Karen was the very first member to re-establish contact with the church. Later, a few scattered survivors had been gathered, but many did not hold a rank as high as Karen’s, and those who did were barely above him. Since it was an empty title anyway, they might as well bestow it upon someone who had rendered meritorious service to keep things tidy from start to finish. Once he returned to deliver his debriefing, they would still have to go through the administrative motions, as compensations and benefits for the fallen team members needed to be evaluated. Just as Lango had predicted, through this "headhunting operation," he had reaped a massive windfall of political capital. Previously, he had only operated on the stage of the York City Region; now, he stood squarely in the spotlight of the entire Church of Order. The internal propaganda of the Church of Order held no surprises either: first, they announced the investigation team's losses, then heavily promoted Karen's deeds. The only thing Karen had failed to foresee was that the church's stance regarding the desert incident would be so unequivocally unyielding. The front-page headline featured a speech delivered by High Priest Norton. First, he defined the nature of the desert investigation team incident, designating it as: *a direct provocation and violation against Order.* After defining it came the countermeasures. There was no bureaucratic double-talk, no deferral to a later date, and no hollow warnings launched into the void. Instead, it bluntly stated that the Church of Order would personally step into the arena to sweep away every speck of dust that defiled Order. Among his words, three sentences left the deepest impression on Karen. The first was: *"Some seek to carve out an arena to continuously bleed us, believing this can wear us down. Yet they do not understand: if we, the faithful of Order, do not even fear death, would we fear bleeding?"* Here, "do not even fear death" was not merely an adjective for courage; it pointed straight at the First Knight Order. This was directly unsheathing the Church of Order's universally acknowledged ultimate weapon—rallying the spirits of their own faithful while sending a tremor of dread across the wider ecclesiastical world. It declared to the entire realm of churches that in handling this incident, the upper limit of Order’s response was high enough to deploy the Knights of Order. That was precisely how such ultimate deterrents were meant to be used. They could remain dormant indefinitely, but having them was non-negotiable; moreover, their true value lay not in actual deployment, but in parading them out into the sun whenever convenient to exert their influence. The second sentence was: *"In handling this crisis, the Desert Church exhibited dereliction of competence and wavering in faith; they are unworthy of trust and reliance."* On the surface, this appeared to be the High Priest directly criticizing the Desert Church and expressing his displeasure. In truth, it established a definitive hierarchy of master and subordinate for the Church of Order’s impending intervention. The Desert Church was too utterly useless; therefore, the purpose of Order’s intervention was not to prop up the desert, but to enact unilateral vengeance and retribution. The Church of Order would no longer expend energy and resources to maintain a facade of desert governance—a "puppet regime." From a practical perspective, sustaining the Desert Church’s existence would significantly lower the costs of intervention and maintenance for Order, while securing the moral high ground. From a long-term strategic perspective, however, maintaining the Desert Church would only turn it into a permanent bleeding wound for Order. Once Order’s forces withdrew in the future, the Desert Church might collapse again in an instant. Consequently, there was no longer any point in attempting to salvage a church riddled with infiltration from top to bottom. Besides, Order had always intended to absorb and swallow it. Now, they would simply dismantle it and devour it whole, without any pretense. Furthermore, this signaled that the Church of Order had no intention of sinking into the quagmire of conventional counter-insurgency warfare. They were coming only to kill, not to govern. Karen could not help sighing. "They’re treating the desert like a newly opened dimension for colonization." Every major church had its own newly opened dimensions, and the vast majority contained "indigenous" non-human beings. The churches' standard approach toward them was always to purge first and build later. Thus, Order’s forthcoming campaign would focus strictly on destroying the active forces of hostile factions in the desert. *I do not want this territory, nor do I intend to cultivate this faith territory; I completely forfeit all profits here—I am here solely to kill!* The costs would be steep. They might hold only a few strongholds, requiring Order's forces to be deployed on-demand via teleportation formations for every military operation, but this would effectively preserve their own combat strength. *Honing the troops, is it...?* Karen could not help reflecting on this. Barring any unforeseen developments, when the time came, it would not just be the knight orders and garrisons sent in; even the various regions would likely organize personnel in rotation to take part in desert combat missions, using the conflict to temper their faithful. Perhaps before long, after returning home, he might have to march right back here, leading a "militia regiment" raised from the York City Region. The third sentence virtually corroborated Karen's speculation. The High Priest had said: *"The starting time of this war is for us to decide; as for when it ends, let them determine that."* Taken in isolation, the statement might sound like an admission of weakness and resignation. Yet considering the preceding context and the sheer colossal scale of the Church of Order, the tone shifted completely, radiating a truly transcendent confidence. A leader's unyielding posture was always more effective at winning hearts, as it fostered a stronger sense of security and pride. Still, if one remained relentlessly hardline without regard for reality, it could easily cause the situation to deteriorate continuously, or even end in total disaster. Karen did not know what kind of future this forceful intervention would lead to. Up to this point, he still felt like a grain of sand caught in the shifting currents of the era: he saw it, he experienced it, he took part in it, yet he remained swept along by its momentum. It was worth noting that once this declaration was made public, the desert rebel army immediately ceased pressing their advantage, abandoning further assaults on the remaining strongholds of the Desert Church rather than moving in for the kill. Instead, they rapidly consolidated their strength and transferred resources, showing no intent to hold the several major holy lands they had just seized. They were already preparing to disperse into smaller units. Both the rebels and the orthodox churches backing them knew full well that even if they pooled all their strength into defending those holy lands, they still would not withstand the iron hooves of Order once the Knights of Order took the field. Thanks to this shift, many desert faithful were able to escape from territories previously held by the rebels, and quite a few people had arrived at this small outpost where Karen was staying. A woman in a yellow dress appeared behind Karen. Her name was Denimir. Her grandfather had been a high-ranking dignitary in the Desert Church, and her father had originally served as the third administrator of a holy land. Over the recent period, both her grandfather and father had been killed one after another by the rebels. She had gone into hiding and seized the chance to flee once the rebels pulled back. Her background was noble, but nobility meant something only so long as the Desert Church continued to exist. Karen was well aware of her intentions in approaching him: she hoped to secure stability by tying herself to him. Such behavior was clichéd, yet entirely expected. Unfortunately, she was destined for disappointment. Karen had no interest in carving out a future in the desert; he was waiting for the summons to debrief in the Dinge Region, after which he would return to the York City Region to take office as Regional Chief. York City was his foundational base moving forward. Staying in the desert as an Order warlord, living lavishly with desert noblewomen at his side—that was a lifestyle someone like Count Rekar might fancy, but not Karen. Denimir knelt beside Karen's lounger. The little desert lizard perched on her shoulder darted forward, seemingly wanting to head toward Little Kanna’s chair; after all, while master spoke to master, pets played with pets. In her deep sleep, Little Kanna rolled over, her brow furrowing slightly. The desert lizard froze instantly on the spot, not daring to advance another inch, crouching low just like its owner. Karen sighed, folded his newspaper, and said, "Miss Denimir, as I have told you, there is no need to waste your efforts on me. You will not find what you want here." "I am willing to follow you away from the desert, Lord Karen." "Yet I am unwilling to take you from the desert, miss." "I am willing to give you everything, so long as you grant me a measure of peace." "I require nothing from you, nor do I have the right to grant you any peace." "Must you truly be so heartless?" Miss Denimir showed a sorrowful, fragile expression. Born of high standing, she had likely once been a shining star at high-society banquets, and she was well-practiced at playing the vulnerable maiden. Karen nodded. "I have a fiancée. I have no intention of entangling myself with another woman and disrupting my household." "I see. Thank you for sheltering me during this time." "You should thank the head of the contact station here. I am merely being sheltered here myself. Now then, miss, I need my rest. You are disturbing me." Miss Denimir rose and departed, her lizard scurrying after her. Before long, Daliwenluo, clad in robes of Order and wearing a mask, strolled over and asked curiously, "I thought you would carry her off to bed and stir up some sparks of life with a bit of rocking." Karen turned another page of the newspaper and replied, "Once you come back with me and receive some proper instruction from my manservant, you'll understand that I dislike others meddling in my personal affairs." "This is not a personal affair; this is the propagation of life." Daliwenluo dragged over a small stool and sat down beside Karen. "The constraints of marriage, ethics, and morality stifle the expansion of life. I am truly curious: why do you make a habit of suppressing your desires?" "Because I don't want any child she bears to turn into another you." Daliwenluo was rendered speechless. Lowering the newspaper, Karen looked at him and continued, "Life should not focus purely on quantity while neglecting quality. Otherwise, the value and meaning of life are diminished just the same." Daliwenluo sighed. "Fine, I understand your point." "How is your physical condition lately?" "Recovering splendidly. That is what I find most marvelous. I am clearly already dead, yet my life vitality has not diminished; on the contrary, it has grown more active. You know, in the past, whenever I cast spells, modified my flesh, or unlocked latent potential, I always had to worry about the soul's endurance limit. Now, that limit has been raised. "That sphere of rule-ecology you left inside me is fragile, yet remarkably resilient." "That is a good thing for you." "Yes, a good thing. I'm beginning to suspect that the soul might actually be a burden to life." "You're going to extremes again." "It cannot be helped. Ah, praise Order." "Your hand sign is wrong." "I shall endeavor to improve it." "You've been sparring with Philomena lately, haven't you?" "Yes, she is a very difficult opponent. Fighting her is quite engaging. Fighting you, on the other hand, is dreadfully boring. Forgive my insolence, but I truly feel you possess no combat aesthetics whatsoever." It was nothing but raw foundational power—crushing, crushing, and more crushing... That sensation of knowing you were going to lose right from the outset, lingering all the way until the actual defeat, held zero suspense and zero fun. "Knowing with absolute certainty that I will win before the battle even begins—that is my combat aesthetic." "So is that why you went mad at the end of the last era? Because you were bored out of your mind?" "You don't need to probe me with such questions." "I am not probing. I have already returned from the dead; what would I need to probe you for? I am... merely curious." "If you are curious, ask the dog at home once we return." "I have been waxing my scalp every single day, hoping to present my finest posture before him." Just then, Richard approached, a document in hand. "Karen, the investigation team has been recalled to the Dinge Region!" *** Carrying Little Kanna on his back, Karen stepped into the teleportation formation circle. Daliwenluo stepped forward and asked, "Shall I carry her instead?" "If you carry her, she'll get angry." Speaking, Karen turned his head slightly. Little Kanna was resting her chin against his shoulder, sound asleep, prompting Karen to reach out and give her cheek a gentle pinch. Adorable children were always endearing simply because of their cuteness, provided they were obedient and well-behaved. Once Karen took his place, half of the surviving investigation team members waiting on the perimeter bowed respectfully to him before stepping into the circle. Across the four batches sent with the investigation team, half of those who had escaped came from the Makina Holy Land, having slipped away when Karen led them out to establish perimeter sentries. The department heads of the Whip of Order from other regions, in particular, held a deep, bone-deep respect and gratitude toward Karen. Yet during his time serving as the acting deputy head, Karen had declined all requests for audience; he was exhausted and desired only quiet rest. Richard, however, had not been idle. He had cultivated excellent relations with them, wanting nothing more than to drink and chat with them every single day. Richard possessed two great talents: the first was socializing, and the second was taking a beating. These connections would prove beneficial once Karen took charge of the York City Region, allowing him to extend his influence into other regions down the road. Furthermore, there was no need to worry that this "life-saving debt" would fade; as long as Karen continued his upward ascent, that debt of gratitude would only shine brighter. The activation of the teleportation formation was delayed briefly, and everyone waited a short while, as a larger teleportation formation was currently spinning up nearby and they avoided mutual interference. After about a quarter of an hour, Karen spotted knights clad in the black armor of Order entering through the main gate, whereupon the teleportation formation on his side was finally initiated. The day he departed the desert was also the very day the forces of Order officially entered it. Upon arriving in the Dinge Region, no reception ceremony had been arranged, nor were there any family members waiting to welcome them. First, everyone knew there were no remains to be claimed. Second, the investigation team's mission was considered a failure; aside from Karen’s glittering personal record and monumental merit, everyone else—even the relatives of the fallen—worried about facing collective punishment. In his report, Karen had made no attempt to spare the dead, scathingly condemning Yamlek’s blunders in the teleportation formation hall of the Makina Holy Land. He did not care whether this report might tarnish his hard-won "cleansed" reputation, for he genuinely never wanted to find a pig at the helm the next time he faced such a crisis. Had they followed his advice back then and launched an immediate breakout, perhaps half of that contingent—or even more—might have made it back alive. Karen headed first to the Church Affairs Building to handle the handover. He shuttled back and forth through the building for a long time before finally clearing all the procedures, and that was with everyone expediting his paperwork without obstruction or delay. It could not be helped: of all the original deputy heads and leaders, he was the sole acting survivor left, meaning every process had to be settled by him alone. The final step was signing the list of those killed in the line of duty. Karen signed them one by one, a process that took quite a while. Once the handover was concluded, Richard held a thick stack of invitations. Many had invited Karen to dinner that evening, and Karen had originally planned to decline them all, wishing to return to York City tonight. Yet there was one invitation he could not refuse: the sender had stationed his personal secretary to wait for him, while the man himself sat in a carriage outside. He was Andilao Cuff, Minister of the Disciplinary Inspection Committee of the Whip of Order, one of the three academic-faction heavyweights Karen had previously met at the lakeside manor outside the Order University. Carrying Little Kanna on his back, Karen approached the carriage. An attendant opened the door, and Andilao pointed to the seat across from him. "Get in." Karen moved to hand Little Kanna over to Richard's care for the moment, but Andilao said, "It's fine. Bring her along." After he boarded, the door closed, and the carriage set off. Andilao spoke: "It is not our faction who wishes to see you; we are in no such hurry." "Our faction" referred to the academics. "So, can you guess who wishes to see you now?" Karen replied, "I do not know." "The Whip-Wielder." Karen straightened his posture slightly and adjusted his cuffs. No wonder Andilao had told him to bring Little Kanna along. The Whip-Wielder also kept a dragon; arriving with a dragon in tow would make his superior feel a closer kinship, as if looking at a reflection of himself. Even at Andilao's station, he remained exceedingly attentive to such nuances, which indirectly reflected that, much like High Priest Norton’s iron grip on the Holy See, the Whip-Wielder’s control over his own system was absolute. "Thanks to your achievements this time, our Whip of Order managed to secure two additional advantages. The Whip-Wielder is very pleased. You have met him before, haven't you?" "Yes, I have." "But never alone, and never in a formal setting?" "Never." "Seize this opportunity," Andilao instructed. "This is vital for you." "Yes, I understand." Silence fell over the compartment for a brief while before Andilao spoke again. "The proposal from last time is about to be implemented. Prepare yourself once you return. The handover ceremony will begin shortly. After you assume office as Regional Chief, focus your efforts on driving this reform forward. Handle it cleanly." "Yes, I will." "You are already practically the Regional Chief. Executing this reform well will pave the road for your further ascent in the future." "I understand. Thank you for your guidance, my lord." "You are welcome." The carriage passed through an iron gate. Beyond the gate, the scenery outside the window shifted dramatically. The gardens vanished, replaced by a grim, gloomy vista reminiscent of a descent into purgatory. Next, the carriage entered a cavern. After traveling some distance, a door appeared ahead. "Alight." "Yes." Carrying the still-slumbering Little Kanna, Karen stepped down from the carriage and followed Andilao through the doorway. Upon entering, the surroundings transformed once more. Glass doors lined both sides, looking out over office spaces. This was likely the true headquarters of the Whip of Order, though the route they had taken was evidently the back entrance. At the end of the transparent corridor stood an office. Seated outside the office door was a red-haired young man with a warm smile. "Lord Andilao." "Please inform the Whip-Wielder that I have brought the man." "Right away, my lord." Andilao turned to Karen. "I shall take my leave." Karen responded, "Understood, my lord." Evidently, even with Andilao's lofty standing, he could not simply walk into the Whip-Wielder's office as he pleased. The secretary completed the notification and said, "The Whip-Wielder is temporarily away from the office, but you may go inside and wait." "Is that permitted?" "Of course. You were not summoned by official writ for a formal inquiry, so your status right now is half that of a guest." "Thank you." "Think nothing of it. Oh, by the way, you may call me Miguel. I was recently promoted to first secretary to the Whip-Wielder." "Congratulations, Chief Secretary Miguel." "You are too polite. Being secretary to the Whip-Wielder is a high-risk profession; my two predecessors both ended up as snacks for Augie." "That..." "No need to worry. The Whip-Wielder prefers that we keep lessons and warnings on our lips so we do not repeat the same mistakes. Well then, please enter, Minister Karen. There is spring water inside, as well as ice—your favorites." "Thank you." Karen stepped into the office. Inside was an expanse of glaciers, and where he stood resembled a small island adrift in an icy river. The drop in temperature caused Little Kanna to slowly stir awake. Just then, a colossal dragon head rose slowly from beneath the icy river. Lord Augie's gaze swept over Karen. A voice rumbled, "You have advanced quite swiftly." When they had first met, Karen was merely a mid-tier priest in the York City Region; now, he was receiving a personal audience from the Whip-Wielder himself. Little Kanna opened her eyes, lifted her head, and glared at the massive dragon head before her, muttering in irritation, "You're very noisy, stupid dragon." Lord Augie's draconic snout twitched slightly. She knew the little bone dragon harbored no fondness for her. Karen knelt beside a spring, cupped a handful of water, and took a sip. It was crisp, cold, and refreshing. From the other side, the sound of a door opening drifted over. Karen stood up immediately as Foden's figure emerged from that direction. This was not the first time Karen had laid eyes on the Whip-Wielder, yet he felt far more nervous than in their past encounters, for back then, he had merely been a minor bystander on the sidelines. Foden seated himself behind the desk. Karen took Little Kanna by the hand and walked forward. "Greetings, Whip-Wielder," Karen saluted. "You have raised this dragon well." "It is all thanks to the researchers at the institute." The Whip-Wielder lowered his head, opened a file on the desk, and began reviewing documents. Seeing this, Karen said immediately, "Thank you for your guidance, my lord. Your subordinate takes his leave." "Mm," the Whip-Wielder acknowledged without looking up. Seeing Karen leave, Lord Augie asked in mild confusion from the icy pool, "Do you harbor an issue with him?" Foden, who was in the middle of signing a document, sneered upon hearing this. "A beast remains a beast, after all." Not daring to show any anger, Lord Augie quietly submerged her dragon head back beneath the icy waters. Karen led Little Kanna out of the office. Refreshments had been laid out before Miguel's desk, and upon seeing Karen emerge, Miguel offered, "Minister Karen, care to join me for some tea and pastries?" "Your kind invitation is impossible to refuse." Karen took a seat beside him and shared the refreshments with Miguel. Neither ate much; each merely took a single bite from a pastry before Miguel set his down to concentrate on his work, while Karen held the pastry and sat in quiet composure. Roughly twenty minutes slipped by. Karen set down the pastry, of which he had eaten less than half. Miguel followed suit, closing the file before him. "Chief Secretary, I shall take my leave. Thank you for your hospitality." "I hear Minister Karen possesses remarkable culinary skill. I hope to have the pleasure of tasting it someday." "I shall welcome your visit at any time." Taking Little Kanna by the hand, Karen walked back along the path he had come. Outside the entrance, the carriage was still waiting. After boarding, Karen told the driver, "To the teleportation formation hall." "Yes, my lord." As the carriage rolled forward, Little Kanna asked in bewilderment, "So, the Whip-Wielder only wanted to see whether I was being raised well?" "Our Kanna is indeed raised very well." "No, I mean, didn't he have anything else to say to you? I thought he'd praise and compliment you like Sister Purr does with me. I never expected it would just be a glance, without anything substantial." "The glance itself is the substance." Being granted a private audience by the paramount authority of their system was a reward in its own right. This matter would not remain hidden; it would certainly be publicized, and with the corridor being transparent, plenty of people had witnessed it. As for the outsiders, they would not care what words had actually passed between him and the Whip-Wielder; they would only focus on the simple fact of the private audience itself. Moving forward, whatever Karen did, others would readily assume he had the Whip-Wielder’s backing—and that, in essence, was power. At times, countless subordinates racked their brains merely for a handshake with a leader. Such a seemingly simple gesture could exert a pivotal influence on an individual's future advancement, and might even dictate the trajectory of an entire industry behind them. Furthermore, given the Whip-Wielder's temperament, he had not offered a cigar nor invited Karen to hunt ants; he had deliberately commented only that the pet was well cared for. Leaving things unsaid was not a slight, but an intentional blank slate left for Karen. Karen could leverage that blank slate to create favorable conditions for what lay ahead. And should things go awry, it would have nothing to do with the Whip-Wielder, because the Whip-Wielder had promised nothing. Little Kanna asked, "Did that pastry taste awful?" "I don't remember; I hardly noticed." "Yet you took so long just to eat half of it." "Oh, that was just to kill time on purpose." Little Kanna shook her head and patted her forehead. "Turns out I'm a stupid dragon too." "You're not stupid. Augie is the stupid one." Little Kanna nodded in firm agreement. "Yes, exactly." Once the carriage passed through the iron gate, everything outside the window returned to normal. Karen leaned back against the seat, gazing at the twilight glow on the horizon. Covering his mouth with the back of his hand, he let out a yawn. Little Kanna observed, "Karen, you're sleepy." "A little." "Soon we'll take the teleportation formation back to the York City Region, and then take a carriage from the teleportation hall there to go home. Then you can finally sleep, Karen." "No, you're mistaken." "Mistaken?" "This time, the moment we take the teleportation formation back to the York City Region, we will already be home."