The Whip-Wielder Goes All In!

Having concluded his meeting with Bern, Karen left the Church Affairs Building and carried Little Kanna on his back to their dormitory. Pushing the door open, he saw Augie sitting on the sofa, a large plate of spicy stir-fried river snails on the coffee table before her, picking out snail meat with a toothpick. A frost dragon of near-terrifying proportions was relishing tiny river snails with gusto. Catching sight of Karen's return, Augie instinctively bent down to pick up a snail shell that had fallen onto the floor. Yet she soon felt that such "humble nervousness" was unbefitting. As Karen walked past her, she struck a casual, amused tone and spoke up: "Well now, back from your scolding?" Karen ignored her. After settling Little Kanna onto the bedroom bed, Karen walked back out. "Young Master, would you like something to eat?" "Is there anything ready?" "There are spring rolls. I can heat them up for you." "Mm." Karen sat down on a chair, intending to grab a bite before returning to his office. Though sleepiness was already creeping up on him, he planned to sleep in his office. Just then, the door was kicked open. Dena appeared on the threshold clad in armor with a greatsword slung over her shoulder. She bellowed, "Xili, I'm starving!" Then she caught sight of Karen sitting inside and immediately tacked on, "Please prepare some food for me." "Right away, Miss Dena." Dena set down her greatsword and reached to unbuckle her armor. Karen remarked, "Leave it on for now. Take it off after you finish eating." Armor was just like boots—fine until you took it off, but the moment you did, the stifled stench would burst forth. Due to limits on drill instructors and equipment at the training grounds, the reserve batches were trained in shifts, much like three shifts in a factory. That was why she had finished her session and returned before noon. Dena refrained from taking off her armor and sat down instead, asking, "Well now, back from your scolding?" "Heh." Karen thought the higher-ups had chosen remarkably well when they assigned Augie as her bodyguard. Xili served the spring rolls, along with century eggs and a side of shredded vegetables. Seeing that Dena was back, she went to whip up fried rice. Dena stuffed a spring roll into her mouth with one hand while asking, "When on earth can I go to the front lines?" "Soon. Within the next few days." "I can barely wait. Having to go through the most basic drills day in and day out..." "Training serves a purpose." "Whether it serves a purpose or not is hardly something I need you to teach me! I grew up in the knight orders." Karen nodded. With his silver chopsticks, he cleaved a century egg, dipped it in vinegar, and said, "Does your military merit even equal a fraction of mine?" Dena fell silent. The young lady had a temper, but her nature had not gone crooked. She harbored grievances, yet she only vented them upon returning home; ordinarily, the High Priest's adopted daughter obediently completed her recruit training. When it came to military merit, she truly had no grounds to argue with Karen—he had recently brought back a cartload of heads from the desert, every single one of which stood higher than her present accomplishments. "Um... once I reach the front, can I choose my post?" Karen replied, "Obey your assignments." "I'm asking nicely here." "Request denied." "I ought to get some special treatment, shouldn't I?" "Under Order, all are equal." "Humph!" Dena grabbed the large bowl of egg fried rice Xili brought over, took up a spoon, and began wolfing it down. Little Kanna rubbed her eyes as she walked out of the bedroom. Karen looked at her and asked, "Not sleepy anymore?" "Sleepy," Little Kanna said, heading toward the washroom. "Must take a bath before getting into bed." Dena took a big swig of soy milk to wash down the rice and taunted Karen, "Your household has more rules than the High Priest's palace." "Since I don't want to send Kanna to an isolated pocket world, I can only pay greater attention to instilling rules and manners in everyday life." "Why don't you commit heresy, Karen? Then I can hack you to death right now." "You can't beat me." Dena was struck speechless. Having eaten his fill, Karen got up and washed his hands in the kitchen. "Take your time, everyone. I'm heading to the office." The first thing Karen did upon returning to his office was summon Alfred, Vic, and Leon for a brief meeting, primarily briefing them on his experiences during this trip to the Dinge Region. As his primary aides, they needed to stay informed about his movements and interpersonal dealings. Only then could they handle affairs smoothly while he slept. Once the brief meeting concluded, the trio departed. Karen entered the inner lounge, showered, and lay down in bed. When he woke, it was six in the evening. Seeing that no urgent matters had interrupted him, Karen decided not to get up and went back to sleep. This time when he woke, it was one in the morning. He had slept wonderfully and felt thoroughly refreshed. Stepping out of the lounge, he sat behind his desk and pressed the call bell. One of the three on duty—Alfred, Vic, or Leon—would know he was awake. If there were urgent matters, they would bring them to his office; if not, they would notify Xili to prepare a meal for him. Karen first picked up the newspapers on his desk. Every day, the latest editions from the various orthodox churches were laid out here, along with their internal circulars. It was clear that mobilization was becoming increasingly overt. If the orthodox churches had previously fanned the flames in secret, offering lip service without real commitments, they were now openly declaring that aiding the Desert was aiding themselves. "Mercenaries" from the orthodox churches, draped in the guise of the Church of the Desert, were streaming into the desert in ever-larger numbers. The same held true for the Church of Order; a fresh wave of reinforcements had already begun. In addition, there was another report: the Church of Order was preparing operations targeted against the Church of Samsara. It might not be open war, but rather joint sabotage coordinated with other orthodox churches. It was both amusing and absurd. On one hand, the Church of Samsara stood alongside the other orthodox churches in the desert, wrestling with Order; on the other hand, the Church of Order was collaborating with those very same orthodox churches to apply pressure and strike at Samsara. The scene was steeped in dark, realist humor. In truth, the Church of Samsara was caught in a miserable position where no one liked them. Unless another church received an oracle from their own main deity giving an explicit signal of imminent return, the Church of Samsara would endure a rough time for the foreseeable future. Xili arrived, bearing Karen's late-night meal—or breakfast, depending on how one looked at it. After setting down the dishes, Karen said, "Thank you for your hard work." "It's no trouble at all, Young Master." Just then, Alfred stepped inside. "Young Master, it's time for our scheduled contact with the militia regiment." "All right." The communication formation was installed right inside the Regional Chief's office and connected in short order. Karen was eating his meal, and across the projection, Neo was eating as well—only Karen's spread was rather sumptuous, while Neo was picking at canned rations. "I'm feeling a bit slighted here," Neo remarked. "Mm. Think about how you're risking your neck on the front line while I sit back here piling up merit, and you'll feel even more slighted." "That's precisely why I despise bureaucrats." "You don't despise bureaucrats; you despise the fact that it's not you sitting in my chair." "Heh heh, fair enough. But it's pretty fun out here too. You were right, Karen—war really is thrilling." "Different from trading stocks, isn't it?" "Completely different." Neo shook his head, adopting a rare trace of gravity. "If I lose money trading stocks, I can always pay it back slowly. If I truly can't, I can just change my identity or go raid the creditor's house." "Mm." "But right now, what's in my hands are lives—and everything you've built up, too. If I squander it all, I'd honestly be too embarrassed to show my face before you." "Hearing you say that puts my mind at ease. I trust your abilities in everything other than the stock market." "The issue right now is that I can't break away to go grave-robbing." "That is a serious problem." "Mainly, we performed too well before, so now we stick out. Every time those two commanders from the knight orders assign tasks, they put our militia and the one from the Dinge Region right at the top. We've turned into the class representatives." "Those are practical difficulties; you don't need to stress over it. Although finances are tight on my end, I can still find ways to manage for now. Don't let domestic troubles affect your decisions in the field." "Really?" "Really." "Good, that takes a load off my mind." "Oh, right. I met with the Whip-Wielder yesterday." "Did he praise you?" "You could say that. What the Whip-Wielder meant was that you should give it your all—as much merit as you can rack up out there, that's how much reinforcement he'll send your way." Hearing this, Neo gulped. Karen hesitated, set down his chopsticks, and cautioned, "I wasn't planning on passing that along to you, but I expect the Whip of Order will soon step up its investment in your two militia regiments." "Why wouldn't you tell me? As if you don't know how steady and cautious a man I am." "Oh, I know all too well." "Fine, that's enough for now. I need to go heat up this can. You have no idea how awful this canned meat tastes cold—it makes me want to revert to my old habits, grab prisoners, and drink their blood." "Keep yourself in check." "Goodbye. Good night." "Good morning." The communication formation powered down. Neo immediately tossed the can aside and urged, "All right, all right, the link is cut! Bring out the food, bring out the food!" Muri, Ventura, and the others promptly carried a spread of assorted dishes to the table. Following the previous battle, both sides had tacitly disengaged to gather strength for the next round of genuine slaughter. The militia was stationed in the rear, enjoying a secure supply line. With Desert Church priests helping replenish provisions, they truly lacked for nothing in the way of food and drink. Indeed, as the last battle drew to a close, the two native factions fighting a civil war had largely stepped back to the second line. Whether the Desert or the Great Desert side, both had effectively been reduced to logistical suppliers. The only reason they had not bowed out entirely was that their names were needed as a pretext for the fighting. Order framed its intervention as suppressing Desert rebels and eradicating Desert Church terrorism; the coalition army framed theirs as preventing the Great Desert from slaughtering the Desert and preserving the Desert's heritage. Both sides waged war on someone else's land under someone else's name, yet neither had openly torn off the veil. Ventura asked, "Why couldn't we let the Regional Chief see us eating?" Neo explained, "Are you dim? Don't you know how tough things are for your Regional Chief right now? If he saw us eating this well on the front lines, he'd definitely feel miserable." Just then, someone came over to report, "Commander Senroel is here again." The plump commander from the neighboring regiment dropped by once every day—no, twice, morning and evening—eager to move his entire command post right into theirs. "Sigh." Neo let out a breath, stood up, and swapped places with Muri for the head seat. Ventura chuckled. "A pity the Regional Chief isn't here. If he were, and this guy acted so attentive and eager, maybe if an arrow happened to strike him dead one day, he'd earn a spot in the coffin." Muri corrected him, "You think getting into the coffin is that easy?" Ventura shook his head. "Sometimes, it really comes down to luck." Neo said, "Didn't you hear Karen tell me that the Whip of Order will soon step up its investment in our two regiments? If the Whip-Wielder truly goes all in, Senroel probably won't be nearly this attentive." Ventura asked curiously, "Why?" Neo replied, "Because the bigger the stake, the greater the greed, and reason gets squeezed out." Muri nodded. "Looking at it that way, if the Whip of Order sends more forces, it might not even be a good thing for us?" Ventura chimed in, "Wouldn't Commander Neo just have more men to command?" Neo shrugged. "I could command them, sure, but the question is: would the person sitting in that seat still be you, Muri?" "I..." Muri hesitated, realizing Neo was right, and nodded. "If too many forces are sent, and the Whip of Order intends to unify the command of both militia regiments, my status and seniority won't be enough to command respect." "Then what do we do?" Ventura grew anxious. "Are we going to have to take orders from someone else?" Muri answered, "They'll probably send an important figure with greater seniority and a standing that commands authority." Neo tossed aside a picked-clean bone and smiled. "All right, no need to fret about that just yet. That's a headache for your Regional Chief. He certainly won't let his own outfit get taken over by an outsider." Ventura remarked wistfully, "If only the Regional Chief could come over. His seniority would certainly suffice." "I'd honestly love for him to come." Neo took a sip of liquor. "That would make things far more interesting. He's probably getting bored back there anyway—haven't you heard? He went and thrashed an entire branch of the Assassin Guild! Hahaha!" Muri nodded. "If the Regional Chief could come, none of this would be an issue." "No, there's a catch. If the Whip of Order doesn't commit that much, Karen would be taking a loss by coming out here—it would lower his standing, seeing as he still has a huge operation to run back home. But if the Whip-Wielder truly goes all in, even if Karen wanted to step in, he'd have to compete against the senior heavyweights of the Whip of Order. "Let's wait and see how much strength the Whip of Order deploys. Hopefully, it won't scare us out of our wits." *** Having finished his call with Neo and his meal, Karen had just stepped out of the washroom after rinsing his hands when the telephone rang. Very few calls could ring directly into his office; they had to be forwarded through Alfred and the others unless it was someone they deemed unnecessary to verify. Sure enough, Miguel's voice came through the receiver. "Good evening, Regional Chief Karen." "Haha, it's almost dawn on my end, Mr. Secretary-General." "Oh, right, I nearly forgot the time difference. You work terribly hard, Minister Karen. Look after your health, young though you are." "Thank you for your concern, Secretary-General." In truth, Karen had only just woken and finished eating, and his conversation with Neo could hardly be called work—it was more like friendly banter. "I have a matter to notify you about in advance. In roughly three days, a large number of Whip of Order squads reassigned from various regions will assemble in your jurisdiction. Regional Chief Karen, you must oversee their reception and reorganization. They will serve as subsequent contingents sent to the front lines." "Understood." Reinforcements were being mustered; the Whip of Order planned to ramp up its commitment. Yet Karen felt a faint thread of doubt. Typically, an official notice would have sufficed for something like this; there was no need for Miguel to make a personal telephone call. "Be meticulous with the reception, Regional Chief Karen." Karen caught on immediately and asked, "Where are they being transferred from?" "The Pioneering Space." Whip of Order squads transferred from the Pioneering Space? Neo had once joked that the other Whip of Order squads in the Yorktown Region were like lapdogs or cute little ducklings, while only their own squad were hunting hounds. By that logic, the Whip of Order squads operating in the Pioneering Space were veritable war dogs. Different environments forged different men. Though belonging to the same institution, in recent years the grassroots squads in ordinary regions had essentially worked as hired hands for their regional administrative offices. In contrast, the squads in the Pioneering Space confronted far more terrifying foes, harsher environments, and much higher casualty rates. Every squad there was an elite unit—the true backbone of the Whip of Order. Even the Whip-Wielder himself had once directed the branch's operations in the Pioneering Space. Karen asked, "Roughly how many squads?" Miguel answered, "Nearly two hundred." At that number, Karen froze. Assuming each squad comprised a captain and twelve members, that was over twenty-six hundred personnel. Counting auxiliary members, the total easily surpassed three thousand. At the same time, the Dinge Region was likely facing an identical situation, meaning the number of Whip of Order troops mobilized for the front from these squads would approach seven thousand... The Whip-Wielder was throwing caution to the wind—he was breaking the bank and going all in! That Whip-Wielder who ate shaved ice and wrapped himself in a blanket like an old man with aching joints—who would have thought that when he truly set his mind to something, he would be this extreme? Factor in the two militia regiments already on the front lines and the reserve batches due for deployment, and before long... the Whip of Order's forces in the desert would surpass ten thousand men. Karen had originally dispatched Neo to the desert to rob tombs. The tombs hadn't even been cracked open yet, and Neo was on the verge of inexplicably becoming the commander of a ten-thousand-strong army corps? No, the official commander was Muri. While the Benda family held noble prestige within the church, they had little sway over the Whip of Order or the knight orders. With Muri's current seniority and standing, there was no way he could remain in that seat. Karen understood now why Miguel had taken the trouble to call instead of leaving it to a routine memorandum. Miguel had likely just received first-hand notice. The formal directives had not yet been issued, and even the elite squads in the Pioneering Space had no idea they were being recalled. He was giving Karen an advance leak of the exam questions. Because once the news broke, every heavyweight across the entire Whip of Order system would scramble with bloodshot eyes to vie for the post of this militia regiment's commander... No, how could this still be called a militia regiment? It was nothing short of a Whip of Order army corps! "I understand, Secretary-General. I will make all necessary preparations." "I have every confidence in your abilities, Regional Chief Karen." Hanging up the phone, Miguel pressed his lips together, recalling the scene in the carriage where the Whip-Wielder had gazed through the window as Karen walked away leading the little bone dragon. He had always believed Karen possessed great potential; now, he was convinced that Karen's potential was overflowing. Having likewise hung up the receiver, Karen leaned back in his chair and stared at the office ceiling. This piece of news—and the tremendous upheaval it portended—stirred massive waves within his heart. Now, only one question remained before him: "Should I go...?"