Master Alfred!

Inside Leon's office, Little Kanna sat beside the desk, clutching a fountain pen and furiously rushing through her homework at top speed under Leon's tutelage. Just then, the bell on the desk chimed, followed by Karen's voice coming through the blue conch: "The meeting is over. Bring Kanna over; Purr wants to see her." "Understood, Regional Chief." *Clatter!* The fountain pen slipped from Little Kanna's hand and dropped onto the desk, her face frozen in utter dismay. "Heavens! How was it so fast?!" *** "Kanna! Are your bones itching for a beating, meow?!" Purr's roar echoed through the communication array. The eldest miss of the Allen family remained elegant most of the time, yet when it came to tutoring a child's schoolwork, she was prone to fits of fury. Even if outsiders would have viewed Little Kanna as a rare, hardworking prodigy, the Inmerais family had no shortage of geniuses. Once his meeting with Neo was over, Karen had yielded the spot and retreated into the break room to wash his face, mostly to dodge any chance of the crossfire turning on him. After all, Purr was at the front lines while he stayed behind. When Purr got worked up scolding the child, she could easily pivot to lecturing him about failing to look after the kid's studies at home. *Snap!* Sitting at the edge of the bed in the break room, Karen lit a Church of Thunder cigarette and rested it on an ashtray to use as incense. Neo had given a definitive answer. This meant his biggest worry was gone. From here on, he could channel all his focus into contending for the position of Whip of Order Corps Commander. The difficulty, undoubtedly, was immense. He had to formulate a competition plan, and he couldn't follow conventional thinking—because conventional thinking gave him zero advantage. For as long as Purr spent outside chewing out Kanna, Karen spent inside pondering. At last, the noise outside quieted down. Karen pushed open the door and returned to the office. The communication array had not yet been closed. Purr was sipping coffee, having likely finished her lecture and now moistening her throat to rest. Little Kanna stood there clutching her schoolbag, head hung low and spirits thoroughly deflated. Her fingertips unconsciously picked at the fabric—her way of relieving stress. The black cat embroidery that she had previously picked bare now showed signs of being scraped right back into existence. Purr spotted Karen. High-grade communication arrays acted somewhat like holographic projections, capturing the surrounding environment. Raising her head, Purr was just about to speak to Karen when Karen preempted her: "I'll try to bring her along to the Desert in a while. A child's education really ought to be handled in person." Whatever Purr had been about to say was instantly choked back. "Keep yourself safe out there." "You too." Karen closed the communication array. Little Kanna sat down behind her small desk, pouting. She didn't cry or throw a tantrum; instead, she spread out the thick stack of notebooks and exercise booklets once more, resuming her homework. There had always been two driving forces behind Little Kanna's diligence. One was that she refused to grow up to be as stupid as Augie. The other was that she would never admit to being dumber than Karen. One had to understand: she insisted on wearing clothes altered from Karen's hand-me-downs, all in pursuit of equality with Karen. Purr's two magic mantras for educating the child were "You don't want to end up stupid like Augie, do you?" and "Just look at how fast Karen picks things up." This pedagogical method was somewhat unscientific and detrimental to a person's healthy physical and mental development. Fortunately, Little Kanna wasn't human. Furthermore, and most importantly, "racial discrimination" within the Church of Order was deeply entrenched... After all, these Order faithful looked down even on gods. Thus, if Little Kanna wanted to break free from the shackles of her racial identity in the future and attain well-rounded advancement and a transcendent status within the Church, the most effective path was to break the limits of her species' role through learning. Throughout the Church's history, many powerful monster beasts had emerged, but those with clear marks of "intellect" invariably enjoyed far higher status. The end result of permissive, carefree rearing would be that if Karen took the seat of the Whip-Wielder in the future, Little Kanna would spend most of her time just like Augie—"reared" inside the small world within the office. Karen sat back down behind the desk, opened his files, and resumed working as well. Three days passed quickly. Over those three days, the creation of the Whip of Order Corps ceased to be a secret, and the whirlpool of competition had already begun to churn. Today was the scheduled meeting day for the Whip-Wielder's inner circle. As customary, Karen entered the communication array a quarter of an hour early and took his "seat." The atmosphere this time was not nearly as light and breezy as before. Familiar faces were still greeting one another, but with a touch of reservation. No matter how close a pack of dogs might be on ordinary days, when a meaty bone was tossed in their midst, their eyes inevitably turned red with jealousy as they lunged into food-guarding mode. The only person entitled to pick it up without drawing resentment was the Whip-Wielder himself, but everyone knew he couldn't personally march to the Desert to lead an army. The Whip-Wielder's figure appeared in the "hall." Among the agenda items for this regular meeting, there was no mention of the candidate for Whip of Order Corps Commander. Yet that didn't stop those who could no longer contain themselves from itching to make a move. One by one, like gorillas pounding their chests, they exuded an aura of ravenous ambition. Throughout the entire regular meeting, Karen remained silent. The Whip-Wielder didn't call on him to speak, and Karen didn't volunteer to show off. Once the meeting concluded, the Whip-Wielder departed, yet the gathering did not disperse. People clustered into groups of three and four to chat—or rather, to coordinate behind the scenes. Under normal circumstances, this was a taboo in the eyes of superiors. Hence, everyone was clever enough to do their colluding right here, repackaging it as "healthy competition" for the higher-ups to see. Karen noticed several cliques trying to reel him in to talk. After all, the Yorktown Region militia was one of only two Order militia regiments on the front lines. Bringing Karen into the fold would grant a stronger head start. They didn't consider Karen a competitor. Karen might have viewed Regional Chief as the baseline threshold of eligibility, but in their eyes, only their ranks and above even qualified to enter the race. Karen didn't linger to network. Since he had already decided to vie for the position, any warm pleasantries now would only compound their resentment toward him later, so there was no point. No sooner had he exited the "meeting" than the telephone rang. Karen picked it up, and from the other end came Andilao's voice: "Karen." "My Lord." Without greetings or buildup, Andilao got straight to the point: "I want that position." He was the head of Headquarters' Disciplinary Inspection Committee. Breaking down the power hierarchy of the Whip of Order at Headquarters, the Whip-Wielder unquestionably stood alone at the top tier. The second tier consisted of the Whip of Order's numbers two, three, four, and so on... The tier after that was where Andilao belonged. Yet even that tier was subdivided into many strata. For instance, Karen hadn't seen Andilao in the Whip-Wielder's inner circle meetings. Therefore, Andilao's standing within the system fell roughly in the lower-middle portion of the third tier. It was only natural that he wanted this position, as it could propel him upward. Karen fell silent. And that silence was, in itself, an answer. In truth, Andilao had helped Karen plenty in the past. It was thanks to him and Miguel that Karen had enjoyed smooth sailing lately, as they all belonged to the Academic faction. Yet this was precisely the root cause of the Academic faction's chronic problem of being broad but brittle: it lacked a unifying core philosophy. Without a political banner, there could be no banner-bearer, and without one, strong cohesion could not exist. In other factions, once an objective was set, they would typically pool their strength to push forward the candidate with the highest chance of success. The faction would even actively lobby rival contenders within their ranks, urging them to bow out to minimize infighting and prevent vote splitting among allies. However, the Academic faction had no such coordination. Andilao asked, "What? You're interested in that seat too?" This counted as a soft warning, likely to be followed by negotiations and concessions of interests. Karen broke his silence and stated flatly, "I believe my chances are better than yours." This meant the following steps could be skipped altogether; there wasn't even a need to haggle. *Hiss...* The sound of a sharp intake of breath came over the line. Andilao was hesitating. Karen continued, "My momentum right now is very strong. If I secure it, I can keep that momentum going." The roles of buyer and seller had flipped. Karen was now attempting to persuade Andilao to give up. "However, your current rank and seniority don't put you at an advantage in this competition. Besides, you're too young—that's a handicap." "I consider it an advantage." "You are too naive." "Before the Whip of Order Corps was established, the Whip-Wielder sought my views and took me to see the High Priest." This was no secret, but evidently, Andilao was not so easily fooled. "Was it for this matter?" Karen lied with utter certainty: "Yes." Andilao was at a momentary loss for words, because he couldn't reply with: *Ha! You think I'm that gullible?!* Uttering those words would mean personally severing the bond between them. The one least willing to sever that relationship was not Karen, but Andilao, because he was the investor... He had already sunk costs into Karen. "My Lord, help me compete for this position." "I..." "You don't stand a chance." "You..." "I have disadvantages, but you have no advantages. Sometimes, having disadvantages is an advantage in itself—at least I stand out." "Hehehehe..." Andilao chuckled aloud. "Take a gamble, My Lord." Karen offered no bribes or promises, because there was nothing he could give Andilao right now. Furthermore, as a growth stock, one needed self-respect. When accepting an investment, one shouldn't beg on their knees, but receive it while lounging back—otherwise, they would only depreciate their own valuation. "I need to consider this. Will you reconsider your stance?" "No reconsideration. My mind is made up." "Mm, then let me think on it." "Understood, My Lord." The call ended on a somewhat sour note. Yet Karen did not stop there. Working off the list Vic had compiled for him, Karen began phoning every influential member of the same faction who held a post in the Whip of Order, conveying his intent to them plainly and unmistakably. Their actual influence was limited, and the Whip of Order had only two primary factions: one was the indigenous faction, which could be further subdivided into many branches; the other was the circle headed by Foden. As such, relying on the Academic faction's presence within the Whip of Order for robust backing was unrealistic to begin with. The only ones who could genuinely exert influence—meaning, if the Whip-Wielder staged some open-ballot election where people could cast anonymous votes—were really just Karen and Andilao. Karen was merely using this channel to state his position and spread word of his bid. Having finished this, Karen lightly massaged his wrist. Presently, within the Region, he was practically an "emperor" in name and deed, but at Headquarters, the power he could draw upon remained far too scarce. Miguel thought highly of him, but Miguel's usefulness was limited; he couldn't do too much, or he would end up as the chicken-flavored crunchy snack in Augie's mouth. Having no desire to linger in the office, Karen stepped out for fresh air and returned to his dormitory for lunch. Xili, who was cooking, noticed Karen's return and set aside the thermos on the counter. Karen glanced at the kitchen and said, "No need to prepare too much." "Um... Young Master, there won't be any leftovers." "Oh, right." It wasn't that extra dishes had been made for his return, but rather that leftovers had become an impossibility lately. Daina, training every day, ate like a bottomless pit, while Augie... in human form, she could stuff food down her throat twenty-four hours a day without indigestion. Karen sat down on the sofa. Just then, Daina, who had just finished today's training and taken a shower, emerged from the washroom, toweling her hair as she asked Karen, "Are you aiming for that position?" Karen ignored her. "Tonight, I'll be using my portable mini-communication array device to pay my routine respects to that person." "That person" referred to her adoptive father, the High Priest. Seeing Karen still unresponsive, Daina continued, "Do you want me to mention it on your behalf?" Karen shook his head. "Don't ruin me." Daina snorted. "Hmph! Must you always be so arrogant?!" Karen closed his eyes, indicating he had no desire to converse further. Daina was staying at his home and indeed possessed a line to the High Priest, but that was strictly for routine greetings between adoptive father and daughter. She couldn't offer any real help and would only produce the opposite effect. For a man like the High Priest, hearing his adoptive daughter recommend Karen... What would his first reaction be? That Karen stopped at nothing to advance, grasping even at this line of connection—unsteady, unreliable. How could someone like that ever be appointed to the position of Corps Commander? Furthermore, the key to this matter lay with Foden. What would be the point of pulling strings with the High Priest? Hoping the High Priest would muscle his way into Foden's territory on Karen's behalf? And what would Foden think once he found out? Daina frowned and said, "Hey, I genuinely want to help." Karen could only open his eyes and give a small smile. "I appreciate the thought, but it's not that simple. It would backfire." "Oh, all right." Karen had actually volunteered an explanation, which caught Daina somewhat off guard and even flattered her a bit. *** After lunch, Karen returned to the office. In addition to documents, an apology and self-criticism lay on his desk. It wasn't thin—twenty pages long. Reading just the opening lines, Karen knew the two vice captains had co-written it with Andrew. The formatting was crisp, though hardly heartfelt, but its sheer volume made it clear that these three youths were terrified of having their military eligibility revoked by Karen. As for the annotations beside every accomplishment on Karen's résumé, they were filled with nothing but flattery. "Sigh." Karen tossed the self-criticism aside in mild resignation. They still hadn't realized where their real fault lay. Andrew's defiance toward him didn't truly anger Karen. They could cause trouble at the Ankara Hotel, trash the front desk, cause a ruckus in the guest rooms—all of that was fine. Those were mere blunders, falling squarely within the realm of young, insolent hotheads. What truly angered Karen was that they hadn't entered through the main doors. This meant that growing up and working in the Expansion Spaces had cultivated a warped worldview in their minds, where raw strength and connections trumped everything. Men who ought to have been defenders of Order had lost all reverence for Order itself. Their current attitude toward him was like small-time street punks meeting a bigger gang boss. In their eyes, the Church of Order was more akin to a giant syndicate. Vic entered and said, "Regional Chief, the first batch of personnel arrived at noon. Mr. Alfred has already prepared the first program for them." "Let's go have a look, then." Karen stood and walked out with Vic. Just as they took their seats inside the VIP car Neo had left behind, the figures of Andrew and his two companions appeared outside, rushing over in such haste that a bystander might have mistaken them for assassins. Vic remarked, "They haven't left ever since turning in the self-criticism." "Let them in." "Yes, Regional Chief." Vic waved them over and unlocked the door. The trio behaved properly this time, saluting Karen before taking their places in the back row. Andrew tried several times to open his mouth to ask something, only to be held down by the two vice captains at his sides. The interior of the car remained dead silent. After driving to the outskirts, the car turned into a cement factory, drove straight into a wall, and entered a barrier realm. Inside the barrier stood a new structure resembling a colosseum. Though not yet completed, it already showcased a grand and imposing scale. Indeed, this was the execution grounds being constructed for the new department. An execution ground of this magnitude would never see full use unless Karen intended to launch a religious white terror campaign or stage mass slaughter against heretics within the Region. Yet because this symbolized control over judicial authority, he had to bite the bullet and approve its construction. By now, over a thousand Whip of Order priests clad in Order clerical robes stood in the spectator stands. In the center, a hundred figures in Order robes knelt, bound and prostrate. The executioners began announcing the crimes and verdicts one by one. Karen asked Vic, "So many condemned prisoners?" Had his Region's Whip of Order suddenly devolved into such corruption and depravity ever since he took office? Vic answered, "Mr. Alfred requisitioned them from multiple regions under your name." "Oh." Karen nodded. Quite novel—borrowing death-row convicts to execute. Andrew and his two companions stood behind Karen, looking down upon the scene on the platform. The corners of Andrew's lips twitched with amusement; he found this display childish and crude. But knowing he couldn't laugh, he pinched his thigh hard to suppress it. Even if they held back their laughter, others in the stands had no idea Karen was standing behind them. The priests in the spectator seats were laughing and chatting among themselves. Executing people? As Order priests stationed in the Expansion Spaces, they had seen far more than their share of blood and fire. They knew very well that the local authorities were trying to break their unruly spirits with an intimidation tactic. In the eyes of Regional priests, this crowd was a bunch of frontier bumpkins; in their eyes, the Regional priests were pampered quails raised in a greenhouse. Once the verdicts were read, the executioners stripped the clerical robes off the condemned prisoners. This act signified their expulsion as Order faithful, akin to being "deprived of political rights for life." Some prisoners wore undergarments beneath, while others were completely naked. Stripped of their robes, they looked somewhat comical. The laughter among the Whip of Order priests in the stands grew louder, accompanied by mocking fingers pointed at the figures on stage. Yet the executions... were delayed. Some of the condemned prisoners tried to put on a brave face, while others were terrified, their bodies shivering. Gradually, however, their movements began to converge: they curled into themselves. This was an isolated barrier realm, far from cold, yet the prisoners universally began exhibiting symptoms of freezing. They pressed their bodies against the ground and huddled toward the prisoners beside them, trying desperately to minimize their exposure. The executioners did not intervene. Before long, the prisoners clustered into a tight, squirming mass. Those on the outside scrambled to push their way in, while those inside refused to budge. Those tucked deepest buried their heads, refusing to show their faces. "Yo, so they know shame after all! Hahaha!" "Look at them being bashful!" "It's one thing for the women to be shy, but what's with the men? Too embarrassed about what they're packing down there?" The Whip of Order priests in the stands mocked them as loudly as possible. Having just been transferred here, being subjected to this kind of demonstration right off the bat naturally provoked a rebellious streak, so they exaggerated their indifference all the more deliberately. Now, the executioners began dragging the prisoners out one by one, forbidding them from huddling together. The prisoners who were pulled out displayed postures of excruciating agony. They began weeping, shouting—not pleading for mercy, nor proclaiming their innocence; The Order clerical robes stripped from them earlier had all been piled in front of the platform. And every single one of them was wailing toward that pile of robes, begging for them back, pleading to be allowed to die while wearing them. These were all priests who had committed crimes—capital crimes carrying death sentences. They had long known their fate. Yet here and now, once the robes were severed from their bodies, they felt a cold far more bone-deep than death itself. They had strayed, they had fallen, they had betrayed. Yet only when it was ripped away from their flesh—no, stripped from their very souls—did they realize what it meant. On the execution stage, weeping merged into a sea of agony. Faces streaked with tears and mucus, they wriggled, wailed, and begged frantically toward the pile of robes. Many kowtowed so violently against the ground that their faces became masks of blood, yet they did not stop. Andrew was no longer pinching his thigh. All trace of amusement had vanished, replaced by bewilderment and... terror. He looked at Karen's back ahead of him, subconsciously clutching the sleeves of his own clerical robes with both hands. And without anyone realizing when it began, the once rowdy and bustling stands... fell into dead silence.