Corps Commander Karen!

Between the small conference room and the great hall lay a long corridor. After Andilao stepped out, he stood beside a vent, pushed open a window overlooking the garden outside, rested his left hand on the windowsill, and held a cigarette between his right fingers. Those ranked above or equal to him had finished their "interviews" and left before him. As the people who exited afterward passed by and saluted him, he only needed to give a slight nod in return, not even bothering to turn around. The garden view was beautiful, but he was in no mood to admire it now, because he knew that the position of Corps Commander was out of his reach. When had he become certain? It was when Number Two had asked him a few brief questions and then told him he could leave. At that moment, he finally understood the true nature of this "election" game, and finally grasped what kind of candidate the Whip-Wielder truly wanted. In his own name, the Whip-Wielder had swiftly and decisively drawn the finest core elite of the entire Whip of Order from various Expansion Spaces to form a militia corps. One could claim this was due to the urgency of the desert war, or that it came from a direct order by the High Priest, but things did not have to be so rushed. Moreover, dense transfer orders had been issued and personnel had begun assembling under orders days ago. Although everyone knew deep down that such a massive newly formed corps would inevitably require a newly selected Corps Commander who could keep the situation under control, it was only after this meeting began and everyone took their seats that Number Two announced the matter. It wasn't that haste was necessitated by an emergency; it was purely deliberate. The proposals drawn up, the envisioned concepts, the understanding and judgment of war—the Whip-Wielder didn't care about any of it at all. In fact, he had practically demonstrated his indifference through his actions. The problem was, faced with such a massive opportunity and such tempting bait, who could resist showing off? Even taking ten thousand steps back, even if you could sense this subtle implication in advance, could you truly make up your mind to approach this election in such a passive manner? With the former, no matter what, there was still some chance; with the latter, one flip of the coin, and your chances could drop to absolute zero. "Heh..." Andilao chuckled as he blew a smoke ring. Why did that sound somewhat familiar? "The probability of success is high, but the probability of failure is also high." Karen's words from earlier that day echoed in Andilao's mind. Of course, he hadn't thought Karen was spouting pure nonsense. His response back then had been: Do you have a special method? Andilao narrowed his eyes. That kid had guessed it all along, and had prepared to do it all along. For this evaluation, the most standard answer was actually a blank sheet. It had nothing to do with being right or wrong; the more you wrote, the lower your score became. Andilao suddenly felt a deep, chilling dread from the bottom of his heart. Setting aside the other virtues this young man had already displayed and the achievements he had attained, the vision and decisiveness he demonstrated this time alone were enough to make one shudder. "Huuu..." He exhaled a long ring of smoke. He hadn't gotten it through the back door. Given the Whip-Wielder's absolute control over the Whip of Order, if he truly wanted to push a young man up by force, he could easily override all objections. And for this young man to say those words so bluntly to him during the day meant he wasn't completely certain in his heart either. After all, only a fool would go around broadcasting the correct answer after getting it, wouldn't he? "My Lord." Scarlett walked out and saluted Andilao as she passed him. "Mhm." Scarlett glanced behind her, looked thoughtful, and left. Andilao, having lit another cigarette, also knew who was due to come out next. Before long, Karen stepped out. Seeing Andilao, he walked over on his own initiative. Andilao said, "Congratulations." Karen recalled the image of Andilao turning his head specifically to look at him as he exited through the shielding barrier. "It's not certain yet, my Lord." "It should be you. Your gamble paid off." Karen said nothing, gazing at the garden view outside the window. Andilao held his cigarette butt out the window and continued, "Actually, the moment the Whip-Wielder rallied all the elite of our department to march to the desert, his objective was already achieved." As a true core loyalist who had followed the High Priest all the way up, he had given the High Priest a satisfactory response, set an exemplary lead within the church, and used this opportunity to reintegrate and hone the Whip of Order system under his control. He had already gained everything he wanted. Therefore, the only thing he considered next was: protecting his capital. The Whip-Wielder and the High Priest had very similar personalities; both had an immense thirst for power and control. Therefore, to the Whip-Wielder, it wasn't that he couldn't accept burying all the elites of the Whip of Order for a cause he deemed worthwhile, but on one condition: if they were to be buried, it had to be by his own hand. For that very reason, the more ideas and ambitions a candidate for Corps Commander harbored, the less likely he was to choose them. This was his capital, the family fortune he had painstakingly built and gathered. How could he bear to let others use it to indulge their personal ideas, or let others use it to pave their own path? What the Whip-Wielder wanted was not a Corps Commander, but an obedient, mindless puppet. Just like on a theater stage, where foolish kings sent the courtiers at their side, who understood nothing of military affairs, to the front line to supervise the army. This couldn't be called foolish or selfish on the Whip-Wielder's part, because Andilao had to admit that this Corps Commander didn't seem to require much military competence. After all, this was merely a militia corps; drawing up battle plans and issuing military orders were the responsibilities of the knight orders. The militia corps only needed to cooperate unconditionally. However, this "courtier" needed sufficient standing to command authority over the scene and had to be chosen from this group of high-ranking figures. If no suitable one could be found, the Whip-Wielder would also have picked one to knock into shape until he fit the desired mold. But as luck would have it, a genuinely fitting, sensible, and obedient candidate had stepped forward on his own. Andilao said, "You guessed it early on?" Karen replied, "I told you, in a normal competition, I had little chance. So I could only hope for an alternate path." Andilao reached out and patted Karen on the shoulder. Karen stood motionless. He had never done this before. Last time, when he took Karen in his carriage to the Whip-Wielder's office, Andilao had exuded a strong aura of a superior. But now, though the superior-subordinate distinction remained, he was already deliberately downplaying this hierarchical gap. "Do well. I look forward to good news from you at the front. I hope you remain safe, and I hope our corps remains safe as well." "Yes, my Lord." Returning to the great hall, Andilao took his seat on the dais, while Karen returned to his seat in the first row of the second section and sat down. The two Regional Chiefs beside him—one produced a cup of water, and the other produced a handkerchief, offering them at the same time. Regional Chief Joseph: "Sigh, are the two of us acting a bit too sycophantic?" Regional Chief Mamalong: "A little. Being too obvious isn't good; we have our pride too." Seated between them, Karen didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He reached out to take the cup of water and the handkerchief. "You two seniors have teamed up in one camp to tease me." Joseph: "Don't say that. You're far younger than us, and far bolder than us. I truly admire you from the bottom of my heart." Mamalong: "Indeed. We also thought we never had the chance for in-depth exchanges before, so we had to seize the opportunity. In case you get selected, when you return, we won't even be qualified to sit beside you." Karen responded, "In the future, I will still need much guidance from you two seniors regarding work. I am still young, haven't been a Regional Chief for long, and have shortcomings and a lack of experience in many areas." "If you ever need anything, just say the word." "Exactly. If there's anything you need us to cooperate on, just say the word." Every time Karen lowered his posture, the two Regional Chiefs immediately lowered theirs even further. Soon, the whispering in the hall ceased instantly, because the Whip-Wielder had returned. The meeting officially began. Number Two continued to preside over it. The agenda item regarding the candidate for Corps Commander was placed second; first was a briefing on the desert war, followed by the logistical support for the Whip of Order militia corps. A major region or several minor regions were organized into groups, each group responsible for one aspect of logistics. In truth, the lion's share was still borne by headquarters. For example, the equipment, allowances, and pensions for these ten thousand personnel would definitely be covered by headquarters during the initial phase. However, the greatest cost of war lay in consumption. Assembling a corps was actually far cheaper than sustaining one, and the most expensive part was supporting a corps in active combat. By allocating tasks now, the rights and responsibilities would be clearer and the burden lighter for both headquarters and the local regions going forward. Fortunately, in recent years, local Whip of Order branches had generally reclaimed considerable authority from their respective Regional Administrative Offices. In the past, the only support a local Whip of Order could offer would likely have been scraping together a portion from its already meager maintenance budget to hand over as tribute. The Yorktown Region held a unique political standing. Though geographically located within the Wien Region, it was virtually equal in rank to it. In Karen's understanding, it was somewhat like a municipality directly under the central government. Therefore, the Yorktown Region was placed in a group on its own, responsible for "monster beast feed." The "feed" here referred not just to monster beast rations, but also death crystals for undead warhorses, special potions to maintain the beasts' condition, and even if it was just rations... the rations for beings like giants were a horrifying drain. Regional Chief Joseph was responsible for boots; Regional Chief Mamalong was responsible for gloves. Joseph took the initiative to reach across Karen and extend his hand to Mamalong. "Greetings, fellow garment factory colleague." Shaking his hand, Mamalong replied, "Thank goodness it's just odds and ends. Nearly scared me to death." Neither the boots nor the gloves were ordinary items; they were spell implements. Under normal circumstances, they could only be bought in point coupon shops and black markets with Order coupons at no small expense, not to mention this was a supply scale for over ten thousand people. What Mamalong was thankful for was that they were only doing peripheral accessories, not divine robes or armor; if it were that, even selling himself off wouldn't cover the supply. Their reactions gave Karen a clearer realization of the developmental imbalance between different regions and among the Whip of Order branches within them. Overall, the conditions of the Yorktown Region were quite good. The only reason it was currently facing a financial crisis was because of the reforms he was implementing. Alright, the first agenda item concluded. Number Two leaned back slightly, conversing in hushed tones with the Whip-Wielder. Below, all the seated "feudal lords" collectively leaned forward by instinct, waiting with bated breath for the announcement of today's candidate for Corps Commander. The efficiency of this meeting was truly astounding. From issuing the exam notice, taking the test, to announcing the results, there was not a moment's delay—the entire thing was handled in a single meeting. Number Two sat up straight again and began: "Based on our prudent, meticulous, and comprehensive evaluation..." "We have thoroughly examined the candidates' proposals and visions..." "And fully taken into account their current posts, vital responsibilities, and various other circumstances..." All of this preamble could be taken in entirely reverse meaning. "Ultimately, we reached a unified consensus, unanimously approving the appointment of..." At this point, Number Two deliberately glanced left and right. Number Three, Number Four, Number Five, and the others beside him also turned their heads to exchange meaningful looks, creating the impression that this was an entirely collective decision. Only the Whip-Wielder remained in his original posture, leaning sideways against the head seat. Karen closed his eyes at this moment. Even with Andilao's early congratulations, as the answer was about to be revealed, he still felt a tremor of tension. "...the appointment of the current Regional Chief of Yorktown Region, Karen Silva, as Corps Commander of our Whip of Order Desert Corps!" Karen's eyes snapped open. It was his! As the entire hall turned their eyes upon Karen, he rose to his feet. Number Two smiled. "Corps Commander Karen, please come up to the stage." Karen nodded, straightened the cuffs of his divine robe, and walked toward the rostrum. Some were jealous, some surprised, some baffled, some envious... Yet regardless, seeing such a young and handsome man stride forward with steady steps, everyone felt a fine sensation rising in their hearts—a sense of vitality and the future. After all, fundamentally speaking, although each had their petty personal interests, they were all members of the Whip of Order, bound to carry its brand for the rest of their lives. Being part of this group, seeing a young man rise and ascend so rapidly was genuinely beneficial to the development and continuation of their "clan" when viewed from a collective perspective, which would inevitably provide a better broader environment for everyone here. Many even harbored the thought: If the High Priest abdicates in the future, and our Whip-Wielder also steps down, there will at least be a powerful successor guaranteed to take over the Whip-Wielder's seat, continuing to lead everyone in defending the fruits of our present reforms and seizing more external resources. The Whip-Wielder seated in the head seat likely never imagined that, despite saying nothing and doing nothing, his subordinates below were already arranging a "crown prince" for him. Someone began to applaud. At first, it was scattered, but soon everyone joined in, and thunderous applause echoed through the hall. Applauding, Joseph said, "Mamalong, you were right. Next time we won't be qualified to sit next to him. He'll probably sit in the front row, won't he?" Clapping vigorously, Mamalong replied, "Too narrow-minded. He'll probably sit on the rostrum." When Karen stepped onto the rostrum, Number Two picked up a newly forged special identity medallion. Just as he was about to hand it to Karen, he paused deliberately and looked toward the Whip-Wielder. Foden then rose to his feet and took the medallion from Number Two's hands. Number Two immediately sat down. Karen stood before Foden, and Foden looked at the young man before him. Karen's interview answer: I feel that a Corps Commander in this position should have no ideas of his own. Foden naturally was not so naive as to believe this was Karen's true thought. He knew it was an idea born from Karen deciphering his own thoughts. Yet what did that matter? Did anyone think he would truly pick a brainless fool with zero thoughts of his own to command his core assets? A person who understood when to have no thoughts was far more suitable than someone who genuinely had none. It not only saved the trouble of reprimanding and guiding them, but also granted him greater peace of mind in certain aspects. For example, if another accident like last time occurred, such a person would at least know how to adapt, preserve strength, and even earn merits. In the previous campaign, as to which of the two militia corps was imitating and which was calling the shots, he was bound to receive the most accurate intelligence. Just as he had promised Karen in the carriage: ensuring the frontline high command structure remained unchanged. You see, it really hadn't changed—he had merely dispatched the boss you left at home over there as well. Foden smiled faintly. "I admit, you are even smarter than I was in my youth." Karen immediately responded, "That is because I have you before me to learn from." "Heh heh." Foden handed the identity medallion to Karen. Karen first saluted, then accepted it with both hands. The Whip-Wielder left his seat and, leading Karen, walked to the front of the stage, facing the entire hall below. At this moment, Karen felt that standing beside the Whip-Wielder, his status and standing were undergoing a drastic transformation. Of course, the current shift was still intangible, but once the desert war concluded and he returned from the desert, these changes would solidify completely! Foden proclaimed, "This is the Corps Commander I have chosen for you, and for the entire Whip of Order. I firmly believe that as the whip in the hand of the great God of Order, we will be invincible!" In an instant, everyone stood up, arms crossed over their chests, and a unified, devout prayer echoed throughout the hall: "Praise be to the great God of Order!" ... After the meeting adjourned, the Whip-Wielder was the first to leave, as usual. Karen remained at the front of the stage. First came Number Two, followed closely by Number Three, Number Four... and finally the department heads as well as Andilao. All came over to speak with him, whether offering congratulations, encouragement, or simply making small talk. In short, they all went through this formality before leaving the hall. When Karen felt he had finally finished dealing with them and could leave, he turned around, only to discover a large group of "feudal lords" still seated below. Karen walked down from the rostrum. Wherever he passed, the local lords there stood up to speak with him on their own initiative. It truly was a case where those above him had to speak to him before they left, while those of equal rank or below had to wait until he finished speaking before they could leave. In truth, they weren't complete strangers; through meetings, communication conferences, and work exchanges, they had long become acquainted. But now Karen's standing was different. Even though his name and appearance hadn't changed, in the eyes of everyone, he was effectively a "different person," which naturally required getting reacquainted. After dealing with everyone, Karen felt exhausted. Stepping out of the venue, Karen saw a carriage parked in the distance and Miguel standing beside it. Karen was about to walk over to greet Miguel again. However, Miguel widened his eyes and signaled to Karen with his gaze: *Don't you come over here!* Karen paused, realizing that this wasn't an empty carriage this time—the Whip-Wielder was inside. How could he bond with the Whip-Wielder's secretary right in front of the man himself? While Karen had nothing to fear now, Miguel might very well be thrown to feed Augie because of it. Karen took a few more steps toward the carriage, bowed in salute as if he had deliberately walked over to pay further respect, then turned and returned to where his own carriage was parked. Little Kanna was fast asleep on the seat, but when Karen boarded the carriage, she rubbed her eyes and sat up: "Ah, Karen, did you get scolded for not doing your homework?" "No." "Huh, no?" "Not only wasn't I scolded, I was even praised." Little Kanna: "..." Wasting no time, Karen directly ordered the coachman to take him to the teleportation array hall. However, perhaps because Karen had spent too long socializing after the meeting, or perhaps because the news traveled far too fast, combined with Karen's remarkably transcendent status and soaring prestige in the Yorktown Region—in both the Whip of Order and the Regional Administrative Office... So when he led Little Kanna by the hand out of the teleportation array hall, what met him was a throng of priests crowding the hall, the second floor, the third floor, and the balconies above. After an initial roar of cheers, it immediately turned into a collective salute: "Greetings, Lord Corps Commander!" "Greetings, Lord Corps Commander!" At the top floor railing, Bern stood holding a teacup, with Derius beside him. "Has your first batch of funds been transferred yet?" "How could it be so fast? It takes time to prepare." "Then did you see that?" Bern pointed downward. "I saw. The speed of his promotion is truly frightening." "Just frightening? You still haven't understood my point." "What?" "Hurry up and transfer the funds. Sell what needs selling, pool what needs pooling, and don't delay. If you make me angry, I'm used to striking from the shadows with vile, vicious methods. If you make him angry, he prefers to do it in the open, crushing you to death directly underfoot." "Are you giving me a warning? You truly have changed, Chief Bern, because you've grown old." "Is there a possibility that I'm actually looking forward to seeing that happen?" Derius: "..." ... Alfred drove Karen's car over to pick him up. When they returned to the headquarters building and arrived at the entrance, the steps outside the main doors were packed with people. When Karen stepped out of the vehicle, he was greeted by another round of exceedingly enthusiastic cheers. At the Regional Administrative Office, he had to maintain some restraint, but this was his own turf. Karen pointed a finger at them and scolded laughingly: "Don't any of you have work to do? Looking for an excuse to slack off, are you?!" The crowd dispersed amid laughter, returning to their posts to work. Karen returned to his office. Leon was inside and said, "Chief, the communication link with the front line has been arranged." "Mhm." "Congratulations, Chief." "Thank you." Leon left. Karen sat down behind his desk and activated the communication array. Soon, the connection went through. Before Neo sat a pot simmering with something bright red. Holding a spoon, he was tasting it for seasoning, then poured half a packet of red sauce inside. Having listened to congratulations all the way back, Karen found a rare sense of quiet here with Neo. Then again, no matter how fast news spread, it couldn't possibly reach the front line this quickly; even for Karen to establish communication, advance arrangements had to be made. "Guess what I'm eating?" "Wien bean paste soup?" "This isn't Wien bean paste. It's a special sauce from the desert. Even though the raw ingredients aren't expensive, you still have to pay point coupons to get it." "What are you boiling?" "A bit of everything." "I can see that." "I saw believers of the Desert Church eating this while inspecting the camp. They don't lack ordinary food, but as you know, these believers are mostly used for logistical support—they have to drive massive monster beasts for transport or operate implements for labor, including maintaining supply transport arrays. Every day, they work like coolies, having to consume or even overdraw their spiritual power. The advantage of point coupon food over ordinary food is that priests can better draw replenishment of spiritual power from it, but what right do they have to enjoy that? "So, they collect the leftover point coupon food from our camp soldiers' slop buckets, pair it with this sauce, and boil it all in a single pot. Hey, you might not believe it, but it actually tastes pretty good. "The Desert believers even gave this dish a name: the Order Pot." "Oh, so that's it. Seems you're quite leisurely, having the energy to try such 'delicacies.'" "Only for now. The new phase of the war hasn't started yet. Right now, the coalition is expanding outwards while we're deliberately contracting. Once subsequent reinforcements are in place, the real war will begin." "Hound." "Yeah," Neo replied while stirring the pot. "What is it, Quail?" "Commander Neo." "What, my Regional Chief Karen?" Neo looked up at Karen in the communication array. "Vice Commander Neo." Neo's eyes flashed. He understood, but deliberately didn't answer. Instead, he lowered his head again, unable to hold back a smirk as he continued stirring his Order Pot. Karen called out again, "Hey, Vice Commander Neo, I'm talking to you." *Clang!* Neo struck the rim of the pot hard with his spoon and yelled: "I heard you, you bastard!"