An Audience with the High Priest

An eerie tremor, a terrifying premonition—Karen had long grown accustomed to dropping "God" from "Praise the God of Order." But this time, he had a distinct feeling that if he slacked off here, he would undoubtedly be caught. Caught by whom? Karen did not know. This Office Divine Hall, used by successive generations of High Priests, might harbor deeper, far stranger secrets. Perhaps somewhere in the unseen depths, a pair of eyes truly watched at all times, scrutinizing the absolute loyalty to God of every person who set foot here. The prayer of praise concluded, and everyone resumed their seats. The sudden emergency matters had already been deliberated—or rather, directly handed down by the High Priest himself. But the meeting was far from over. It seemed they were rolling right into the regular periodic agenda. For the remaining time, the heads of each branch began delivering their work reports, interspersed occasionally with discussions on how specific affairs should be handled. It felt rather like an imperial court audience in Karen's understanding. The rhythm of the entire meeting was governed completely by the High Priest. The High Priest sat in his seat without a single piece of documentation in hand, yet he rattled off every problem and statistic with pinpoint accuracy. When the branch heads delivered their reports, they would still stumble or pause to think every now and then, but the High Priest never hesitated once. He was an exceptionally formidable High Priest with a suffocating desire for control. He did not become hysterical, but if you served under him and had to face him directly, it was very easy for *you* to become hysterical. Naturally, the branch heads sitting here were no ordinary people either. From the beginning until now, aside from standing up with the group to praise the God of Order, Karen had practically zero sense of participation. Consequently, he spent most of his time observing the backs of the heads of the big shots seated before him. The back of the Foreign Minister's head, in particular, was rich in artistry, philosophy, and politics. Conventionally speaking, the Foreign Ministry was a department that placed great value on personal appearance, serving as one of the Church of Order's windows to the outside world. This hairstyle could not help but deduct a few points. However, if one reviewed this Foreign Minister's resume prior to taking office, it was not difficult to see why he occupied this seat. Before middle age, this minister had spent almost his entire life in the Knight Order. Just like Barth, he was a true child of the Knight Order by birth. Afterward, for nearly twenty years, he had worked in the expansion realms, rising from a squad leader in one realm to an expansion corps commander, then to the head of a certain expansion realm, and eventually to a member of the policy and planning office governing the expansion realms… The attitude of the major orthodox churches toward the indigenous inhabitants of expansion realms had always been ruthlessly unyielding. Words steeped in negative connotations—massacres, purges, exterminations—were virtually routine out there. Once Norton took office as the High Priest, this man had been transferred back to serve as the Church of Order's Foreign Minister. This was also one way the High Priest projected his stance to the outside world. This was beyond hawkish; this was the butcher faction. The minister reached up and scratched the back of his head. Then he casually glanced back at Karen, who was seated behind him. With a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth, he turned back around and resumed attending the meeting. In a meeting presided over by the High Priest, naturally no one dared to whisper down below. Karen realized his gaze must have been a little too blunt, catching the minister's attention. He leaned his back slightly deeper into his chair, making subtle adjustments to sit as comfortably as possible. But right at that moment, Karen suddenly sensed the chair beneath him lose its balance. This was definitely not caused by him shifting his posture. It felt like the sudden sensation of weightlessness when falling asleep, completely devoid of any point of support. Yet in the next heartbeat, Karen's eyes narrowed. He bit down on the tip of his tongue, breaking free from that sensation and steadying himself once more. Cold sweat instantly drenched his back. It was not fear—it was regret… This was the Church of Order's Office Divine Hall, heavily guarded and occupied by the heads of every branch holding a council. How could there possibly be an external attack or an internal assassination here? Most importantly, attempting an assassination on him back in Yorktown was one thing, but here, ignoring so many monumental figures just to target a petty regional chief like him—did this assassin have zero sense of perspective? Therefore, this was unlikely to be an extraordinary accident. It was far more likely an arrangement—one that he, relying on his overly resilient soul strength and acting on instinct, had just rejected. Subconsciously, Karen raised his head. Peering through the gaps between the heads of the big shots before him, he caught sight of the High Priest above. The High Priest was still discussing work matters with one of the department heads; everything seemed completely normal. Yet Karen was certain that if this was an arrangement, it had to have come from the High Priest. Even his own Whip-Wielder sat upright and impeccably behaved during the meeting here. No one else had any reason, let alone the courage, to hold a "side meeting" right now. At this moment, only two thoughts filled Karen's head. The first thought was regret: *Oh, heavens, look at that. What on earth did I just miss?* The second thought was anticipation: *Can we try that one more time? I definitely won't resist this time.* … Inside the conference hall of the Office Divine Hall, the meeting continued. Yet adjacent to the conference hall—strictly speaking, right behind the seating area, with no partition railing and completely unobstructed—lay a sunken circular dais enveloped in flowing water, furnished with a sofa and a coffee table. Dressed in black loungewear, the High Priest sat on the sofa holding a cigar between his fingers, flipping through a novel resting on his lap. An identical version of himself was conducting the meeting, while an identical version of himself was relaxing at leisure. The person closest to the book-reading Norton was actually Karen, who sat alone in the very last row. Right now, Karen was barely a meter away from Norton. Norton had said before that he wanted to see Karen. In truth, after saying it, he had "forgotten." For a High Priest blessed with terrifying memory and intellect, "forgetting" was merely an excuse; he simply did not care that much. Therefore, he had not specifically arranged for anyone to inform Foden to bring him along. And by rights, as his chief of guards, Mobiten could not have sent someone on his own initiative to notify the Whip-Wielder. His position dictated that he would never overstep like that. Yet strangely enough, Karen had tagged along, and had even walked inside. Not seeing him, he did not care much; conversely, seeing him, he did not care much either. In Norton's eyes, this young regional chief had remarkably good fortune—a very lucky young lad. So Norton had snapped his fingers. Karen's chair had instantly lost its balance. When he fell back, he would arrive "here" and "see" him. Yet after that snap of his fingers, though Karen's chair wobbled, it wobbled a few times and steadied itself right back. This piqued Norton's interest. He deliberately shifted his gaze away from the book and let it settle squarely on Karen. He had not used much force earlier, merely a simple spiritual tug. Even so, being able to shake off his spiritual pull without making an overt scene meant this young regional chief of the church possessed an exceptionally formidable soul strength. Yet reviewing this regional chief's past track record, he preferred charging onto the front lines in many affairs, so he clearly should have followed the development path of a warrior. In reality, however, his soul strength far exceeded that of ordinary spellcasters and array masters. Fascinating. Norton picked up the wineglass before him and took a sip of red wine. Everyone had their own secrets. As the absolute superior of the present age, he only resented subordinates concealing things or harboring schemes regarding work; regarding personal cultivation and growth, he was very open-minded. Not having secrets in that regard would be the truly bizarre thing. Right then, Norton saw Karen shifting his chair. He was deliberately attempting to tilt the back of the chair backward—once, twice, three times… This young regional chief understood. This young regional chief regretted it. This young regional chief wanted a second chance. "Hahahahahaha!" Norton burst into laughter, laughing until tears nearly welled in his eyes. Karen's little detail and subtle scheme instantly struck the High Priest's funny bone. Coupled with the fact that he was the only one present here, he had no need for any pretense and could express his emotions with total abandon. Finally, the High Priest's laughter subsided. Taking a deep breath, he composed himself. It had been a very long time since he had laughed like this. He snapped his fingers once more. This time, the force was many times gentler than before. … *Hum!* The familiar sense of weightlessness finally reappeared. Though extremely faint, Karen seized it decisively. Not only did he suppress his instinct to resist, but he actively leaned into it. At last, the chair completely lost its balance. Karen's spiritual consciousness seemed to tear away from his physical body as he tumbled backward. Before hitting the ground, he even saw "himself" still seated in his original spot, listening intently to the meeting. The moment his back hit the ground, it felt as though he had plunged into a body of water. With a splash, Karen sank to the bottom, then rapidly surfaced. Poking his head above water, he saw the sunken circular dais before him and the man sitting on the sofa reading a book. That man's "twin brother" appeared to still be holding the meeting right now. Placing both hands on the edge of the platform, Karen pushed himself up. Once out of the water, every trace of wetness on him vanished entirely. Landing on the dais, he crossed his hands over his chest and bowed to the reading Norton: "Subordinate pays respects to the High Priest!" "Sit." "Yes, High Priest." Karen sat down on the sofa to the side. The High Priest turned a page and continued reading, appearing to have no intention of initiating conversation. Since he did not speak, it was not Karen's place to speak either. He could hardly be foolish enough to ask: *High Priest, have you eaten yet?* Beneath the coffee table, several shelves of books were arranged. They were not sacred church scriptures, but mostly novels, and contemporary works at that—new releases published within the past few years. Karen had even read quite a few of them, as he had a reading habit of his own. He recalled that while catching ants with the Whip-Wielder back then, Foden had mentioned that the High Priest liked reading. It seemed it was true. Karen noticed that several books did not even have covers, clearly having been bound together temporarily. That meant they were not even published yet. Well, that was hardly surprising. For the High Priest of the Church of Order to want early access to unpublished manuscripts, how big of a deal could that possibly be? Sitting there, Karen deliberately fixed his gaze on the titles displayed on the coffee table. He scanned them from top to bottom once. Having finished the first pass, he scanned them a second time. When the second pass ended, he scanned them a third time. He had to find an opening to speak, and that opening should not be created by the High Priest; he had to proactively forge it himself. Even if it appeared a bit silly, or even somewhat delightfully naive. Just like earlier when he had deliberately rocked his chair backward, he had essentially been putting on a "cute" performance. Perhaps if that person saw it and chuckled, he would be willing to pull him in a second time. At different stages of the food chain, you had to recognize your own position. Since you could not be free of desires, you had to strive for what you wanted with all your might. Finally, Karen got what he had been waiting for as the High Priest spoke. "You like reading too?" Having already prepared a draft in his mind for this exact question, Karen answered immediately, "Subordinate enjoys the immersion and tranquility when reading." Norton placed the book face down on the coffee table. The title was *The Great Hole in the Sky*, which Karen translated in his mind as *The Sinkhole*. The author was from Wien, though not Yorktown—a relatively well-known disaster fiction writer in Wien. Karen took the initiative to say, "I have read this book." "Oh?" Norton crossed his legs and picked up his cigar. "What did you think of it?" "When reading this author's first work, it felt very novel. But after reading several of his books, one discovers they all share the same flavor." Norton remarked, "Is that so? Yet every one of his works features a new crisis. They aren't the same." "The crises and disasters are indeed different, but the perspective presented in the author's books remains identical: viewing, experiencing, feeling, and ultimately sublimating through the perspective of an ordinary nobody." "Do you think that's bad?" "No, I think it is very good. A personal perspective makes it easier to relate and resonate. However, the author has grown overly familiar with and mastered this technique. Every single book follows the exact same process, so after reading a few, one feels the scope is too narrow and easily grows tired of it." "That is truly a rather novel perspective, especially coming from priests like us who are accustomed to the grand narratives of church texts. Nowadays, even certain works in church literary circles have begun contemplating separating the individual perspective from divine history, advocating for the division and liberation of human nature from divinity, and reflecting on the oppression and enslavement of human nature by divinity. Do you disagree with that?" *I could certainly agree, but why isn't there a single book like that sitting under your coffee table?* "I used to agree with it." "Used to?" "Back when I had just become a priest." "Heh, you have courage, telling your High Priest that when you first became a priest, you agreed with the notion of being oppressed and enslaved by divinity." "Human cognition is progressive; cognition is a process," Karen said candidly. "Confronting one's past self is not at odds with reflecting upon, correcting, and negating that past self." "Meaning you have changed now? And what brought that about?" "Back when I was still a low-ranking priest, I saw a great deal of darkness within our church…" Karen knew full well that the High Priest undoubtedly knew his past record. "Naturally, I have also seen the light… seen the brilliance of human nature. "I have been to Samsara Valley, and I have seen the countless souls being raised within the Gate of Samsara. I have been to the Church of the Crypt, and I have seen how chilling and cruel a church's true survival model can be. I have come into contact with many other churches; without the existence of the *Code of Order*, I cannot even begin to imagine how they would go about… raising and cooking this world." This was in fact the evolution of Karen's attitude toward the Church of Order and the God of Order, as well as the process of acquainting himself with and understanding this world ever since he had awakened in it. In the unseen depths, certain traits were capable of mutual attraction. Just as back on the desert when Daliwenluo's words, "Praise Life," had struck a chord with Karen, prompting him to resolve to put the man in a coffin with all haste. And from the perspectives of Karen and Norton, though neither knew the other's deepest, truest secrets, their perceptions could achieve a faint resonance. After all, in essence, both of them were lonely, misunderstood by the mainstream, and even… forced to hide. Norton set down his wineglass and uncrossed his legs. Looking at Karen, he asked, "Then what are your thoughts on this era where the gods do not manifest?" Karen hesitated for a moment, but in the end, he smiled faintly. "It is truly a wonderful era." However, this answer did not earn positive feedback from the High Priest. The High Priest crossed his legs again, picked up his cigar, and rested the unfinished book back onto his lap. "Do your work well." "Yes, High Priest." Though he did not understand why the previously harmonious atmosphere had abruptly turned cold, Karen knew proper etiquette. Rising to take his leave, he vaulted off the platform and plunged into the water again. When he opened his eyes once more, he was back in his seat in the conference hall. The meeting was still ongoing. The High Priest was questioning Foden regarding work within the Whip of Order. Back on the circular dais, Norton's gaze rested on Karen once more. He had sensed a deliberate quality—a deliberate quality born of deep, calculated reflection. He was not naive enough to believe those were Karen's genuine inner thoughts; he felt Karen had been taught. He knew his own secrets were not entirely confidential. Among the confidants who had followed him step by step to where he stood today, some had figured it out long ago, yet he did not care. Thus, Norton believed the words and philosophies Karen had spoken were coached, like a child rehearsed beforehand by adults and sent out to perform at a family gathering to elicit applause and praise. *Foden, was it you who taught him?* *Morindi, or was it you who told him something before you died?* *Or is there someone else standing behind the scenes, exerting influence over him and scripting his lines?* Norton tilted his head slightly. *Or could it be… that these truly are this young man's genuine inner thoughts?* Norton stood up and set aside his book. An elder of the divine hall had arrived; this clone of his could not rest and had to go deal with it. Having recently executed a batch of clones again, clones were somewhat tight at the moment. "*Sigh*, looks like next time I should keep two or three more around, or I'll be so busy I won't even have time to rest." … The meeting ended, and the crowd dispersed. Karen followed Foden outside. Outside the Office Divine Hall, Foden paused to converse with two other branch heads, while Karen stood quietly behind him, waiting. He used this time to reflect on his words and conduct before the High Priest earlier. He felt he had handled everything fine; if he had to nitpick a flaw, it was that he had been a bit too "deliberate." Yet how could deliberateness be so easily eliminated? Particularly when the High Priest asked him that final question, his answer had actually been very natural. But reflecting on it now, that naturalness seemed to carry an even deeper layer of deliberateness—what priest would so naturally exclaim that an era without gods was truly wonderful? Whatever, no point dwelling on it. In any case, he would not be coming into contact with the High Priest anytime soon. He had better focus on managing his affairs in the Yorktown Region first. Step by step; even skipping steps wasn't done like this. Concluding his thoughts, Karen used the corners of his eyes to observe the great hall. When coming in earlier, he hadn't had the chance to stop and appreciate it properly. The interior walls of the hall were covered in enormous murals. This was the Office Divine Hall, the workplace of the High Priest, so there were many murals depicting Tyrannus, the true founder of the Church of Order. On the largest mural before him, Tyrannus was depicted sitting on a flight of steps, while seated on higher steps before him was the God of Order. However, the God of Order's entire divine form was not shown in the mural, revealing only his knees and hands. Through this composition, it successfully created an exalted, towering image of the God of Order high above. Tyrannus held a blank book, which was presumably the first draft manuscript of the *Light of Order*. In addition, Tyrannus held a quill in his hand. The original artifact itself was still preserved within the church, and its replicas were utilized in specialized venues across several of the church's departments. Tyrannus was listening to the teachings of the God of Order, his face brimming with a satisfied, sincere smile. Watching it, Karen could not help but laugh inwardly: *Tyrannus's expression… why does it look more and more like Ah Fu the longer I look at it?* … "Achoo!" Inside the office, Alfred, who was writing a document, sneezed. Leon asked with concern, "Caught a cold? You need to take care of yourself. Could it be you've been working too hard lately?" Alfred shook his head. "How could that be?" Vic teased intentionally, "The Regional Chief must be thinking about you." "Vic, you have good sense."