All In!

Click! Neo lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and slowly exhaled. Through the drifting haze before him, he seemed to envision the battlefield, hearing the clash and roar of slaughter. When he turned back toward Karen, Karen was, predictably, sitting there with a solemn expression, lost in thought and weighing options. Neo didn't say anything further. He stepped out of the command tent. It was a bold, aggressive plan; when he pitched it, he hadn't realistically expected Karen to agree right away. Things truly weren't what they used to be. Back when the two of them teamed up, from Yorktown to Dark Moon Island, Karen might have complained that Neo was taking things too far, but that had never stopped him from happily playing along. Even just a while ago out here in the desert, Karen had taken the initiative against the observation delegation hunting him, reaping a whole table full of heads. "Phoo..." Neo pursed his lips. It just felt somewhat dull. Why was it that the higher up you climbed, the less free you felt? "Ptui!" He spat the cigarette butt onto the ground and crushed it beneath his boot. "The more you hold in your hands, the less you can afford to lose. That's why you should learn to trade stocks with me. Spend enough time on the rooftop feeling the cold wind blow, and you won't worry about gains and losses anymore. You'll take everything in stride." After muttering to himself, Neo shrugged and walked toward his own command tent. Lifting the flap to enter, he found Dalivenro waiting inside. Neo asked, "Something you need?" "Nothing." "Then get the hell out." "I just came to see you." "Tell me, did you plant that sapling in your head and use your brain matter as fertilizer?" "I was a bit impulsive before, which caused some misunderstandings between us." "No, there's no misunderstanding between us. After beating the crap out of you, I felt pretty good." "As long as you felt good, Sir." Neo sat down. Seeing that the bald fellow still had no intention of leaving, he cursed, "What the fuck do you actually want to say?" "I know you have a very good relationship with Lord Kevin as well." "Huh?" "Lord Kevin intends to train some subordinates..." Neo nodded, then hurled his freshly removed boot straight at Dalivenro, who dodged with a sideways lean. "Don't drag me into your little gang games. I'm not interested." Dalivenro urged, "Sometimes, it's just so we can look out for one another." "I don't need that kind of looking out for. I'm not one of Karen's subordinates. I'm not like you lot." "Still, who knows, you might end up dead one of these days..." "Well, aren't you a smooth talker today? Did you smear horse shit on your lips in secret?" Dalivenro stood up with a smile. "As long as you understand, Sir. I've delivered the message. If you ever need anything in the future, just give the word." "If Karen had seen this ugly face of yours before he killed you, I don't think he would have 'awakened' you back." "Think of this as me striving for progress." Dalivenro scratched his bald head. "We can't leave Mr. Alfred in such a precarious, awkward position forever. It's bound to invite suspicion." "Get out!" "Understood." Dalivenro stepped out of the tent and stretched. He was thoroughly engrossed in this "bald gang" game. The man he had been before dying would never have dreamed of doing something like this. Yet now, he found it amusing and fun. Having lived a second time, one had to try new things and sample fresh flavors. If an opportunity arose later to let that Mr. Alfred taste the delicious flavor of horse manure as well, that would be even better. "Heh heh." Dalivenro chuckled aloud at the thought, and the sapling slung on his back sprouted a few more buds. *** Philomena slept through the entire night, only waking around midday. She could easily have slept for at least another half-day; the only reason she didn't was that her stomach was growling. After washing up, she stepped out of her tent and headed toward the mess area. A troop of cavalry trotted past her, led by Lucie's husband—Karen's maternal uncle-in-law, Dake. Philomena frequently dined at the Guman home, so Dake recognized her immediately. He drew the reins, causing his undead steed to rear its forelegs and let out a clear neigh. "Good afternoon, Miss Philomena." Philomena looked at him and said, "Salute." Dake froze for a moment, then promptly crossed his arms over his chest on horseback: "Battalion Commander!" Philomena nodded and walked away. Watching the girl's departing figure, far from being offended by her bluntness, Dake showed a smile full of longing for a brighter future. According to his wife, it seemed Miss Philomena and Richard might actually end up together. If they really reached that stage, it would be wonderful. Then, when he visited his in-laws after the war, he wouldn't have to dread the awkwardness anymore. Because the ones in the most awkward spot would be their household. On the way to the mess camp, one had to pass the Legion Commander's tent. Philomena paused there for a moment, just in time to see Richard carrying a meal tray in his left hand and a bucket in his right as he walked into Karen's tent. After spending enough time together as companions, people naturally developed an unspoken understanding. Especially back when they worked at the Whip of Order, Richard had always brought back food for her from the cafeteria, and he hadn't dropped that habit even after becoming the office director. Philomena once overheard female priests at headquarters gossiping: "Director Richard is still single, quite handsome, and highly regarded by District Chief Karen." "Yeah, but... word from the cafeteria staff is that he eats an enormous amount." "So what? Our stipends aren't huge, but converted into riels, it's not like he can't afford food." For a long time, Richard had been seen by the cafeteria cooks as an unbelievable glutton. Soon, Richard emerged from Karen's tent. The tray he had been carrying was gone, but he still held the bucket. Richard spotted Philomena standing in the distance, while Philomena's eyes were fixed on the bucket in his hand. *** "I was thinking of waking you up to eat before you went back to sleep." Outside the command tent, Richard drew an adjoining curtain, blocking the view from all around. This had originally been an attached office shared between him and Dena, convenient for responding at a moment's notice to the Legion Commander's summons. Now that Dena had transferred to the communications division in the rear, Richard had the space all to himself. Conditions inside were Spartan; after all, it was merely a waiting area. Sleeping was done in their personal tents. Richard produced a large wooden spoon and a pair of chopsticks and handed them to Philomena. She took them and sat down in front of the bucket. Inside was pilaf, hand-cooked by Richard himself, packed with various vegetables and chunks of meat—mouthwateringly fragrant. Philomena began eating. Richard gingerly produced a jar and uncapped it. An instant briny, damp stench escaped—reminiscent of moldy dampness, the signature mark of Wien bean paste. Pouring some into the bucket, Richard sealed the lid, stepped outside the makeshift tent, and lit an incense stick. "Go ahead and eat. We can't let Karen smell this." Philomena was a native of Wien and accustomed to bean paste. However, because of Karen's personal aversion to Wien bean paste, the dish rarely appeared on the dining table for him or anyone around him. Although Karen had never formally banned it, a superior's preferences inevitably influenced those below him. Even the Whip-Wielder had to follow the High Priest's lead in smoking cigars and reading novels. Philomena ate her rice mixed with the paste. She didn't shovel it down savagely; on the contrary, her table manners were never bad. It was just that she chewed and swallowed very fast, and she ate for a very long time without stopping. Often, when everyone else at the table had finished eating, she had merely lined her stomach. After eating for a while, Philomena glanced at Richard. Richard hurriedly said, "I already ate. Haha, I had my share while cooking. All of this is yours." "Paste." "Oh, sure." Richard gingerly opened the jar again and poured more bean paste into the bucket. Philomena lowered her head and resumed eating. Richard stood up, walked to a corner, and opened a small cabinet. Inside sat a steamer pot over fuel—neither charcoal nor fire spirit stones, but spent magic crystal cannon shell casings discarded by the frontline artillery battalion. The residual heat trapped inside them lasted a long time, so many people in the legion went to the artillery battalion to ask for them to cook private meals in their tents. The pot held a stew of ribs, not pork, but from monster beasts killed in battle with the enemy. Friendly beasts killed in action were respectfully buried, but fallen enemy beasts were naturally divvied up for meat. Some monsters tasted wonderful, while others had poor meat, but regardless, this was an ingredient that usually could only be bought with point coupons. "Here, taste and see if it's salty enough." Philomena took a sip and said, "Nowhere near what the commander brews." "Of course. Even my grandmother learned cooking from Karen." "Still drinkable, though." "Heh heh, that's good then." Philomena went back to eating. As she ate, she put down her chopsticks and spoon and focused on drinking the broth. After finishing it, she remarked: "It's actually pretty tasty." "Yeah, thanks." With the soup gone, she resumed eating the rice. Finishing an entire bucket of rice really took a bit of time. Just then, Karen stepped out of his tent. Noticing the curtain drawn shut next door and the scent of incense wafting out, he curiously opened it and immediately spotted the man and woman sitting inside. Philomena swiftly flipped her spoon over, covering the bean paste in the bucket with white rice. Richard stood up and flashed an awkward grin at Karen. "Eat well," Karen remarked casually, before walking away. Inwardly, he mused: *If Richard and Philomena really end up together, they’ll be the spitting image of Delon and Grandmother.* Men of the Guman family seemed to pursue women exclusively by feeding them. Their family heritage probably wasn't the Key to the Rubik's Cube, but rather bringing in external talent to improve their gene pool. Heh... Karen stood in the open space ahead, scanning the surroundings. More than half of the main encampment had already relocated; everyone was preparing to construct a new base in the canyon. A massive shadow fell over him. Karen looked up and saw Little Kanna, in the form of a bone dragon, soaring overhead. If one had sharp enough eyes, a tiny black speck could be seen perched on the bone dragon's head—Purr. The black cat wore a red-and-black cloak with a red hood pulled up. What was this supposed to be, a dragon-cat knight? Little Kanna was thrilled, constantly circling and rolling, while Purr sat perched stably upon her head. Anyone who had kept dogs knew how exhausting it was—having to walk them regularly. Purr not only had to walk a dog, but also walk a dragon. The dynamic scene above soothed Karen's mood, making him feel as though he weren't standing on a battlefield, but rather on the green lawns of Allen Manor. Yet until the war was won, there was no going back. In his mind, Neo's earlier words resurfaced—that bold, radical plan. Back then, Karen had been quite surprised that Neo had simply lit a cigarette and walked out after delivering his pitch. If Neo had pressed him just a little longer, Karen might have agreed right on the spot. Because Karen had no desire to spend the coming days watching others fight while he filled trenches and idled in place. Nor had he ever denied the inner ambition and drive to climb higher; Lord Rasma was constantly lashing a whip behind him, driving him forward. Only, just like the function of the Code of Order, sometimes you had to convince yourself and align your goals with the Code of Order. For instance, this time, he had to tell himself that he was not gambling the lives of his legion's soldiers for his personal career, but rather delivering a decisive strike to revitalize the entire stagnant front before them. It was a form of hypocrisy, but at the same time, it served as a constraint. "Adjutant!" "Here!" Richard immediately hurried out and snapped to attention. "Pass down my order. All units are to halt all current work and prepare to march." "Yes, Legion Commander!" *** Neo poured himself a cup of water, then took out a small bottle containing red powder—a mental concoction. Karen had issued strict orders banning the abuse of mental concoctions in camp. However, Neo's use didn't count as abuse. Long before the war, he had become thoroughly dependent on these things. To him, they were practically routine medication, like vitamin or calcium tablets. Right at that moment, the figure of the Mad Pope materialized within the cup of water before Neo, his voice echoing from inside: "As a believer of Light, yet currently fighting on behalf of Order and even regarded as Order's lackey... Neo, don't you feel you're a complete failure?" Neo flicked the rim of the cup lightly with his finger, watching the Mad Pope's reflection ripple and twist in the water, as if dancing. "Tell me, back when you climbed the Tower of Light and shouted to the entire world that you didn't believe in the God of Light, directly causing the collapse of the Church of Light... did you consider yourself a failure?" "I was a failure. By the time I realized my failure, there was nothing left I could do to change it. But you are different." "No, no, no, don't say that. Heh, sure, I'm different, but I'd rather be like you—commanding an entire intact Church of Light, surrounded by a Temple Guard loyal to your every order. What do I have right now? I don't even hold status within the Church of Order anymore. Do you know what that means? It means when I grow old and retire, I won't even have a pension." "You shouldn't look at it that way. Some things appear to belong to you, but in truth, they are also restricting you." "All right, all right. You had a momentary rush of blood to the head, shouted your lungs out, had your fun, so don't lecture anyone else now. Dammit, is it because I've been accessing memories of your battles so much lately that you've gotten so lively?" Neo poured the powder into the water. The liquid instantly turned crimson, and the Mad Pope's reflection transformed into that of the ancestor of the bloodthirsty aberrant demons, wearing a look of pure bliss: "Ah, I love this color." "You shut up too." Neo lifted the cup and downed half in a single gulp. The demon ancestor's face was cut in half—since he had been shown in profile. "What I mentioned to you last time... does it truly not tempt you at all?" "Listen to me. You lot just quietly serve as my archive and stop coming up with nonsense. I'm not a child who can be bribed with a piece of candy." "Yet for you, isn't Miss Eliza the sweetest candy in this world?" "Are you putting on a play? The tired old cliché of selling one's soul to a demon to revive a lover?" "Eliza is of my bloodline. As long as you can find my true blood crystal in the future, you will find Eliza's imprint within it. Then, you can revive her." "That wouldn't be her. Just a stranger wearing her face." "How do you know without trying?" "Your seductive pitch is thoroughly amateurish." "It used to be extraordinarily effective. After all, the aberrant demon bloodline possesses a natural magnetism for humans. The problem is, deep in your bones, you're a man with a death wish. Sigh, I'm trying to sell a kerosene lamp to a blind man." "Fine, you can shut up now." Neo drained the remaining liquid in the cup. By his ear, Mr. Luther's voice piped up: "My dear Mr. Neo, you really ought to pay more attention to the purple-haired people of Wien for me." "I'm already doing that." "However, you are in the middle of a war." "If Order loses, nobody will care what color anyone's hair is. Everyone ends up in the same grave." "Oh, that is very reasonable. That is a new theory of even grander scale than my own. I must study this thoroughly." Mr. Luther scurried off to conduct his "research." Neo waited a moment. Ah, silence at last. Truly, of all these "personalities," Philias remained the most considerate and understanding. Neo leaned back. Having long since developed an extreme tolerance to the concoction, he actually felt drowsy right after draining the cup. Yet just as he lay down, closed his eyes, and had yet to settle into a comfortable sleeping posture, the conch shell inside the tent sounded. High-ranking officers' tents were equipped with such signaling devices. Neo sat up, puzzled, and stepped out of the tent barefoot. Woooo! Woooo! Woooo! The blare of battle horns rang out—signaling Level-One combat readiness for the entire army. With no sign of an enemy assault, that could only mean the entire force was ordered to march immediately. In the entire legion, only one person could issue such an order. Neo scratched his head in disbelief. He had a full head of hair, so it didn't feel as satisfying to scratch; for a moment, he actually felt an impulse to shave it all off. "Sheesh... did the bean paste rot his brain? He's... going all in, just like that?"