"Karen, take a look at this?"
Miguel handed over the report he had personally edited and revised. Once submitted, this document would become the "original official version" of the incident.
Karen reached out, took it, and began flipping through the pages.
Well, it was remarkably well-adapted. Karen genuinely felt that it was a tragedy Chief Secretary Miguel hadn't become a director making religious films.
From preliminary preparations to narrative build-up, and on to the actual confrontation and its aftermath, the entire text emphasized the solidarity and seamless cooperation of the Whip of Order. It wasn't just a matter of everyone dipping a hand in; not even a toe-width crack had been spared from sharing credit.
Nevertheless, this perfectly solved Karen's problem of laundering military merit.
Miguel watched Karen's shifting expressions, a touch of anxiety and guilt stirring in his chest.
He had previously pulled strings to help Karen out, but knocking on the door to collect the debt right after giving him a hand up was rather shameless. Of course, the primary cause was that Karen had racked up achievements far too quickly.
"It's an excellent report, Chief Secretary. Thank you for your hard work."
"Regional Chief Karen, do you have any objections?"
"None. I'll sign my name to it. In fact, I'll sign and stamp it right now."
"All right. Thank you."
"Between us, there's no need for that."
Because, in the end, I'm the one making the greater profit. Going forward, when Neo's militia regiment loots tombs, runs contraband, and plunders the desert, laundering point coupons can be absorbed or even openly endorsed by the Whip of Order.
Originally, they would have had to worry about the fallout. Karen had enough clout to suppress minor waves, but there was a ceiling to how much pressure he could withstand. Now, things were different. Even if someone discovered their activities in the future, they probably wouldn't dare report or obstruct them, because to the outside world, this wouldn't look like the Yorktown Regional Chief's private enterprise—behind it stood the Whip-Wielder.
And behind the Whip-Wielder stood the High Priest himself. Rounding it all up... plundering and grave-robbing that originally belonged to the Yorktown Region were suddenly elevated into an operation masterminded by the High Priest. It might even be interpreted as a grand strategic maneuver striking at the very foundation of the Church of the Desert. Far from lodging reports or trying to stop it, others would eagerly step forward to cooperate.
Having concluded his business, Miguel took his leave. He needed to head to the Church Affairs Building and teleport back to the Dinge Region to present the report to the Whip-Wielder in person, providing supplementary explanations alongside it.
In truth, using a communication array was vastly more efficient, but every individual harbored the desire to showcase their value before the leadership.
However, Miguel's departure left Dena and Augie behind in Karen's care.
Karen hadn't originally planned on going back to his dormitory to sleep tonight—his office had an attached lounge, after all. But at seven in the evening, Leon came in and presented him with a report.
This dossier had been forwarded from the Whip of Order branch of another region. Their intelligence had uncovered an assassin guild plotting an assassination attempt against Karen.
Well, this wasn't really a big deal. Karen had long grown accustomed to such things; in the past, a report like this wouldn't have even crossed his desk—Vic and the others would have handled it on their own.
Yet this one was far more concrete and detailed, because the Whip of Order regional minister who forwarded it was one of the colleagues Karen had rescued from the desert.
That minister had gone to great lengths, planting undercover agents and conducting thorough investigations, and had actually unearthed the lead. The guild in question was a storefront—essentially an intermediary—and a rather low-end broker in the assassination trade at that. Behind it stood another assassin guild that had posted the contract, one of a somewhat higher tier.
Indeed, an intermediary outsourcing to an intermediary was all for the sake of "laundering"—washing away connections and suspicion.
Moreover, behind that second guild, there was likely yet another broker...
No wonder most of the assassins dispatched after him were intercepted beforehand, and the few who actually struck in reality were effortlessly dealt with.
With layer upon layer of subcontracting and slicing off cuts, the mastermind who actually wanted him dead might have paid a hundred thousand point coupons, but by the time the bounty trickled down into the hitman's hands, did it even amount to three thousand?
Three thousand point coupons—even Neo, when he was standing on the rooftop contemplating suicide, wouldn't have spared it a second glance.
Karen originally intended to set the report aside and pen a thank-you letter to that neighboring regional minister. But after a moment's hesitation, a faint smile crossed his face.
"There's nothing pressing to do right now anyway."
Leon asked, "Chief, are you planning..."
"Since the coordinates have already been located, let's go say hello. It'll save them the trouble of racking their brains over how to assassinate me. I'll pay them a visit personally."
"Chief, I'll go mobilize our personnel right away."
"No need. The militia regiment already drew away a great deal of manpower from the region. Although our routine duties haven't fallen behind, everyone's leave has essentially been canceled. No need to call anyone else. We happen to have one at home."
Karen admitted to himself that he had been stimulated by the victory report Neo sent today. Thinking of Neo having such a thrilling time leading an entire regiment across the desert while he had been stuck in an office enduring an endless parade of meetings, an itch of imbalance inevitably stirred within him. He needed an outlet to blow off steam; the pressures of life required self-regulation.
Furthermore, when one possessed an achievement, one had to find ways to maximize its value. Being too well-behaved wasn't ideal; only the child who cried got candy.
"Are you planning to take the field in person?"
"Yes. Notify Alfred and Vic. You've all been busy lately as well. Let's go out for a little team-building exercise."
"Understood, I'll see to it at once."
Karen returned to his dormitory and opened the door. Augie, dressed in a long gown, reclined sideways on the sofa, revealing her voluptuous thighs. The legs of a frost dragon were as pale and pristine as fresh snow.
Seeing Karen enter, Augie opened one eye, then closed it again.
"You're back."
Little Kanna stepped out of the washroom just then. She had only recently woken up and finished washing her face. She asked:
"Have you had a late-night snack yet? I can pick up some pills for you to eat."
"No need. Go change your clothes. We're eating out."
Karen then walked up to Augie and looked down at her.
Augie asked, "Need my help with something?"
When it came to minor matters, this frost dragon was always perceptive and shrewd—back then, she had even tried to use Rasma's hand to break the seals upon her and regain her freedom. But regarding major affairs, she was remarkably obtuse and naive; that night, Rasma had seen right through her schemes at a single glance, thrashing her until her flesh tore open.
"Someone is attempting to assassinate a Whip of Order Regional Chief. As a dragon reared by the Whip of Order, you are hereby ordered to rescue him."
Augie blinked and asked, "Which Regional Chief is being assassinated?"
"Me."
"You?" Augie sat up. "You're standing right here, completely fine! So you just want me to carry you to kill people, don't you? That's asking for help!"
"I have been struck by an assassin's curse and am currently in critical danger."
Augie: "..."
Karen waved his hand dismissively and urged, "Let's move."
Exasperated, Augie asked, "It's such a simple matter—why can't you just try begging me for once?"
"I can command you. Why would I beg?"
"But that makes me feel very uncomfortable."
"As long as I feel comfortable, that's enough."
Little Kanna finished changing. When they prepared to head out, Dena followed along.
Karen looked at her and said, "I didn't call for you."
"But I'd be scared staying in the house alone."
"Heh."
It wasn't that the willful, spoiled adoptive daughter of the High Priest had changed; what had changed was Karen's status.
Downstairs outside the dormitory building, Karen met up with Alfred, Vic, and Leon.
This was a team-building exercise arranged completely on a whim, in the dead of night.
Vic looked somewhat resigned. Dark circles weighed heavily under his eyes from the backlog of work piling up in his office, but he had no choice but to obey the Regional Chief's summons.
Alfred, however, not only wore a genial smile, but was also specially shouldering a peanut-tube radio.
This was to evoke in his young master the fond, heartwarming memory of that night Master Diss had taken them out to slaughter their enemies.
He remembered that night well: under the rhythm of the radio's music, he and his young master had even performed a coordinated dance.
How could Daliwenluo ever hope to challenge Alfred's status? Not only was Alfred impeccably competent and responsible at work, but he also nurtured interpersonal warmth. In the battle for a place on the family murals, Alfred would forever firmly occupy the background of the very first painting.
Leon, on the other hand, appeared quite agitated. Earlier in Karen's office, he had maintained a calm demeanor, but now he gave off an aura of profound, bitter hatred. Indeed, he detested assassins above all else.
Karen gave a brief opening address for tonight's team-building event:
"The night is short. Let's focus on efficiency."
The first scene was set in a multi-tenant boarding house converted from a self-built property in the outskirts of Yorktown.
This establishment had a peculiar background: it catered exclusively to people within the church circles, serving as an extended branch of the local black market. Before Neo departed for the desert, he had led men to purge the black market on Karen's instructions. As a result, the local illicit trade had yet to recover, and business at this boarding house had plummeted right alongside it.
Karen and the others entered the inn and approached the front desk.
Behind the counter sat a heavily made-up, middle-aged woman holding a slender cigarette. Her feet were propped up on the lap of a young man beside her. Even with "guests" arriving, she showed no intention of showing restraint.
Karen wore a mask over his face. Masks were common here; most who boarded in this place had dirty hands.
The woman asked curiously, "Doesn't look like you're here for a room. Looking to buy info, or offload goods?"
Alfred gave a genial smile. "Fire safety inspection."
The woman: "..."
"Hand over the guest registry."
The woman gave a dry chuckle. The young man beside her instantly shot to his feet, pointing a finger at Alfred and barking, "Are you joking, or did you come here looking for trouble?"
As he spoke, fangs sprouted from the corners of his mouth, and his skin took on an unhealthy, pallid hue.
This was a bloodthirsty aberrant demon. Fresh blood still stained his fangs—perhaps he had just ingested purchased blood plasma, or perhaps he had freshly harvested it himself.
In a metropolis as vast as Yorktown, no one knew how many vagrants died in the sewers every day. The disappearance of ordinary wanderers rarely drew any notice. Last time, Inquisitor Dake had achieved merit precisely because he detected unusual traces on the corpses of vagrants—a truly rare feat. Of course, that was also because the angel the Church of the Abyss sought to resurrect had fastidious tastes, insisting on the blood of artists, and their subcontracting had created fatal slipups.
The next instant, the young man seized his own throat with both hands. Ten long nails gouged into his flesh, twisting and tearing. Thick, blackened demon blood promptly spilled across the woman's thighs.
With a dull thud, the young bloodthirsty aberrant demon collapsed, meeting a bizarre and gruesome end.
The faint crimson gleam faded from Alfred's eyes. He said to the woman, "The registry."
"Right away!"
The woman frantically pulled out the ledger. Alfred flipped through it swiftly, then rattled off three room numbers.
Leon and Vic headed straight upstairs. Dena hesitated for a fraction of a second before following them. Augie sighed—her duty was to protect Dena, so she had no choice but to tag along.
Moments later, accompanied by shrill screams from above, they quickly made their way back down.
Occupying those three rooms were the thugs slated to carry out the assassination against Karen. Taking them out had naturally disturbed the neighboring guests.
The others were relatively composed—they had merely disposed of a few fools bold enough to attempt murdering a Whip of Order Regional Chief for a few thousand point coupons. But Leon's hands were drenched in blood, and crimson flecks spattered his face.
Alfred took out a handkerchief, gently wiped Leon's cheek, and smiled. "Are you trying to heighten the immersion for us?"
Leon nodded forcefully. "I couldn't control myself."
"No need to control it. Team building is meant for releasing workplace stress."
"Thank you, Mr. Alfred."
Leon reached out, intending to take the handkerchief to wipe his hands, but Alfred tucked it away. A little blood from a face could be washed out and reused; soaking it in that much hand grime would mean throwing the cloth away.
Leaving the inn, the group entered a nearby secret Whip of Order teleportation node. That was how they had arrived in the first place, saving precious time.
Teleporting to the Church Affairs Building, their prearranged transfer went off without a hitch. Karen and his party were routed to another region, and from that regional hub, they were relayed to a remote location down below.
Operating under Karen's authority as Regional Chief, they came and went as they pleased, bypassing all queues.
Back in the day, Diss had been forced to commandeer the Church of Order's teleportation arrays by raw force; today, Karen traveled entirely on the public expense.
The next target was the guild that had posted the contract. This guild was situated inside a small town, with multiple isolating arrays deployed along the access roads so ordinary motorists wouldn't wander in.
As Karen entered, he casually altered the formations at the entrance, ensuring that those inside would find it difficult to flee anytime soon.
Having done that, he clapped his hands and said, "Make it quick. Let's aim to reach the next stop early."
Apart from Karen, everyone leaped into action. Little Kanna transformed into a bone dragon; her hundred-meter skeletal form instantly collapsed the guild's main hall. With another heavy stomp, she crushed the adjoining hotel, sweeping her tail and swatting her massive claws at anyone in sight, churning out one pool of minced flesh after another.
They weren't facing an organized army, and the guild's caliber was exceedingly low. The staff and assassins here were generally on par with low-ranking priests. A bone dragon like Little Kanna was an absolute god of slaughter in this environment.
Leon remained in a state of high frenzy, charging in with wild roars. Vic and Alfred had to keep half an eye on him to prevent someone from ambushing him in his reckless abandon.
Miss Dena quickly found her rhythm as well. She hadn't anticipated this special program tonight—having grown up under the shelter of her uncles, she had never had the chance to experience anything like this. She killed with immense relish, while Augie hovered nearby to ensure her safety.
When the time was up, Karen called a halt. There were bound to be survivors holed up in hidden corners, but he had no intention of wasting time on a thorough search.
From the moment those assassins accepted a contract on a Regional Chief, and from the moment this guild dared to broker it, they had already chosen their own demise.
Even if Karen hadn't shown up tonight, the surrounding regional offices would have organized personnel and sent Whip of Order strike teams to purge them tomorrow.
The next guild was somewhat larger and of higher standing, nestled within a canyon.
Standing above the chasm, Karen personally cast spells, hurling down massive fireballs. Flames of Order swiftly engulfed the ravine. Those attempting to fight back or flee were hunted down by the others below. Augie formally joined the fray, though unlike Little Kanna, she didn't assume her dragon form; in human guise, every punch and kick she unleashed detonated into a mist of blood.
After rapidly cleaning out the canyon, they relocated once again via teleportation arrays.
Karen figured that when the regional officials clocked in at dawn, their desks would feature a peculiar report: Regional Chief Karen of the Yorktown Region had been making frequent, rapid hops across the teleportation network all night long.
The subsequent guild truly possessed some pedigree. It was situated on an offshore island, and not in isolation—nominally, the island fell under the jurisdiction of a minor denomination.
"Turn into a dragon," Karen told Augie.
Augie warned him, "Do you realize what revealing my true form here signifies?"
"I do."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Whatever makes you happy."
Augie spread her arms, transforming into an enormous frost dragon. Karen and the others stepped onto her back. Taking flight, she sliced through the night sky toward the island.
"The dumb dragon really is huge," Little Kanna remarked, sitting on the dragon's back and stroking a massive scale with both hands.
"When you grow up, you'll be even bigger than her," Karen said with a chuckle, patting her head.
Dena pointed toward the distant silhouettes of flying monster beasts and cautioned, "Karen, the outside world has already noticed Sister Augie's presence. They might mistake this for an arrival of the Whip-Wielder himself."
"Mm."
"Aren't you worried about stepping out of line?" Dena asked.
"I've been performing a bit too well lately; getting praised all the time isn't necessarily healthy. Occasionally getting chewed out for crossing a line actually deepens the bond."
"That..." Dena couldn't quite wrap her head around the logic.
Below them, an elderly man riding a giant gull flew upward. While still a considerable distance away, he shifted from sitting to a full kowtow upon the bird's back.
He was the presiding hierarch of this minor church, and he assumed the arrival was none other than the Whip-Wielder of the Church of Order.
The old man bellowed through an amplifying spell:
"We heed the teachings of Order!"
Alfred released a black crow that fluttered over to the seagull. Tied to it was a slip bearing the name of the assassin guild, alongside a single demand: before dawn, leave none alive.
Having read the missive, the old man immediately wheeled around and dived back down.
Before long, battle cries and brilliant, firework-like spell bursts erupted across the island.
While Karen admired the scenery below, a flock of black crows and various other transmissions converged on Alfred. He turned to report:
"Young Master, personnel from the nearby Order regions are rushing this way to request task assignments. Surrounding foreign denominations are also inquiring whether we require their assistance."
"Heh. You see, Alfred? Driving the boss's car makes getting things done remarkably convenient."
...
The Whip-Wielder had just concluded the morning conference in the administrative sanctuary. During the meeting, he had received personal commendations from the High Priest. To the highest echelons of the Church of Order, the victory didn't count as an earth-shattering exploit, but for the Whip of Order, delivering immediate results right after acquiring expanded authority marked a magnificent start, paving the way for the department to seize even greater power.
Upon returning to his office, the Whip-Wielder lit a cigar.
Miguel, who had just returned from delivering his reports, placed a new document on the desk detailing the events of the previous night. As the Whip-Wielder skimmed through it, Miguel spoke up:
"Lord Whip-Wielder, he dared to commandeer Augie to seek personal vengeance in your name! He is truly growing arrogant and carried away. It is practically..."
"Tsk."
The Whip-Wielder raised a hand, cutting Miguel off with an amused chuckle.
"He's a young man, after all. It's only natural. Hardly anything to make a fuss about."
Miguel asked, "Then shall I issue an official reprimand in the headquarters' name?"
The Whip-Wielder nodded, then shook his head.
"Forget it. No need for an official document. Just summon him over; I'll lecture him face to face."
Chapter 761