Successor to the Whip of Order

"Hey, buddy, eat up. Come on, have a little more." Dake held out jewel-like fodder in his palms, feeding the undead warhorses before him. Sealed inside every single gem was a dense aura of death. This was an undead warhorse's favorite treat—something rarely spared on ordinary days, reserved only as a reward to bolster their spirits after repeated charges. Stroking one and patting another, Dake was saying goodbye to these "good brothers" of his. Beside him, many others were doing the exact same thing. They were members of the cavalry battalion in the Whip of Order Corps, bidding farewell to their "comrades-in-arms." The Whip of Order Corps was about to leave the front lines and return to the rear. This was not a temporary period of rest and reorganization, but a withdrawal from the active combat order to return to their original units—and their gear could not be brought home with them. These warhorses, for instance: a small number of injured or aged mounts would be sent to the rear to recuperate, while the vast majority would be reassigned to other corps to continue serving. Many hugged their warhorses and armor, weeping bitterly. Without having gone through it oneself, it was difficult to understand the intense reluctance and emotional release of this moment. And what was happening here in the cavalry battalion was nothing compared to the artillery battalion. For days, the artillerymen hadn't even slept in their tents, laying bedrolls right beside the magic crystal cannons and kissing the cannons' muzzles over and over every single day. Having concluded his farewells, Dake walked back. His wife, Lucie, stood waiting for him. Dake's stride was noticeably stiff—the newly fitted prosthetics still needed some time to break in and adjust to. Lucie's gaze dropped to her husband's legs, and whatever lingering misgivings she had held melted away at that moment. She had originally been against her husband getting prosthetic limbs, wanting him to regrow his body using restoration fluid instead. But now, she finally understood what was going through his head: if the High Priest ever mobilized them to take to the battlefield for Order once more, her husband would be forced to sit at home, watching his former comrades ride off in full armor while he was left behind. As his wife, she couldn't imagine how she would have comforted his crushed, despondent heart when that day came. "These prosthetics aren't bad at all. Once I get a little more used to them, they can even install some mechanisms and embed a few arrays—like letting me leap ten or twenty stories high! It'll make nabbing criminals way more convenient back home, haha." Dake fiddled with his legs, showing them off to his wife as if displaying a shiny new toy. Lucie shot him a look that was half exasperated and half amused. "All right, all right, let's go. It's time for the teleportation." "Right, let's go." Dake glanced back at the warhorses in the stables one last time, then leaned on his wife's arm as they walked outside. Before they had gone far, they spotted Kaixi pushing a wheelchair up ahead. Seated in the wheelchair was Aisen. The reason Mr. Aisen was in a wheelchair now wasn't due to the injuries from his earlier coma, but because during the battlefield clean-up mission in the last campaign, he had severely injured his lower body while saving two young array masters who had accidentally triggered a residual defensive array. In church wars, however, non-fatal and non-corruptive injuries were rarely permanent. Provided logistical resources were abundant, one could always be saved, or even fully restored. As an array master, Aisen did not have to meet the rigorous physical demands required of a knight, so he would undergo restoration fluid therapy after returning. Lucie and Kaixi exchanged a glance, neither able to suppress a wry smile. Dake slipped free of Lucie's support and walked over to Aisen on his own, eagerly showing off his new temporary prosthetics and babbling about the special functions of the high-grade prosthetics he could install once they were back. To anyone who didn't know better, he looked like a travelling prosthetics salesman. In the past, Dake had never been this lively in front of his wife's family. One could only say that a single war had changed far too many people. *** "It has been my honor to serve alongside you all. I hope we will have the opportunity to cooperate again in the future. For Order—cheers!" Karen stood and raised his wine glass. The commanders of the three regular regiments stood at the same time, raising their glasses in response. The Whip of Order Corps was pulling out, but their three regular regiments would remain on the front lines to continue fighting. Even so, they showed not the slightest slight toward Karen now that he was stepping down from his post as army group commander; if anything, they were far more attentive and courteous than before. They knew full well that once Karen stepped down and returned to the rear, he was bound to receive a massive promotion within the Whip of Order system. In the entire Church of Order, the Whip of Order had the longest reach, and their methods for punishing people were the most convenient and ruthless. That their Whip-Wielder, holding court far away in the rear, could secure logistical treatment on par with ace corps for his own front-line units was the most direct testament to the Whip of Order's influence. After bidding farewell to the three regiment commanders, Karen prepared to leave. The original evacuation plan had been for the core corps to follow the same routes they took when assembling, returning separately to the Yorktown Region and the Dinge Region before disbanding. However, that plan had been changed at the last minute; the entire corps' withdrawal route had been unified into a single path. Upon hearing this from Richard, Karen had merely smiled and remarked, "It seems the Whip-Wielder wants to treat everyone to a farewell feast." *** Passing through the teleportation gate, the members of the Whip of Order Corps arrived at their next assembly point: Augurev Fortress. This was where Karen had once taken part in the final selection before entering the Gate of Samsara. A statue stood here, depicting one of the Four Retainers of the God of Order—Augurev. "Stupid dog, he's bald, and you're bald too, meow." Kevin looked up at the statue, complex emotions swimming in his canine eyes. "What, did you two not get along in the past?" Purr asked. Kevin nodded. "Woof." "You even got into a fight? Why?" "Woof." "He said seeing that you were bald too made him uncomfortable? Hahaha, meow!" Purr laughed so hard she nearly rolled right off Kevin's back. Kevin kept his dog face tight, trying to look solemn, but swept along by Purr's laughter, he ultimately couldn't hold back and let out a chuff of laughter himself. Once upon a time, Augurev truly had bullied him. It was because Augurev felt that acting as a white glove, scurrying between the various main gods, was utterly dishonorable—that Kevin was unworthy of standing before the great God of Order. Kevin could understand that. He had realized long ago that the gods belonging to the faction of Order all carried an incomprehensible pride within them. All gods were proud, noble, sacred, and inviolable, but that was usually in relation to the masses of mortal believers. The gods of the Order faction, however, displayed this demeanor even among their peers in the divine realm. The Rebel Dragon God who followed the God of Order was merely a common microcosm of them all. The Rebel Dragon God had not continued being rebellious because it received the protection of Order; it had simply chosen to join a group that was just as rebellious as itself. Kevin looked up at the statue of Augurev again. An era had passed, and I have become a dog, while only cold stone remains of you. Karen had said that in that vision, he saw the great God of Order, but not you who should have stood eternally at His side—the Four Retainers, the Twelve Knights of Order, the Rebel Dragon God, and the rest... Could it be that you had already become part of that mountain of corpses and bones before the God of Order in the vision? Footsteps echoed from behind. Kevin turned his head to look at Karen walking over. Purr leaped from his back to land on Karen's shoulder. Kevin remained where he was, watching the silhouette of Karen continuing forward. A new Order has already emerged. What about you all? Kevin's eyes grew pensive, and he sighed inwardly: If the return of the gods is already set in stone, will you return as well? In what manner will you return? Furthermore... Once you return, will you still abide by the vows of the previous era, following the God of Order to build a world of true Order? For some reason, thinking of this made Kevin feel a surge of irritability. He began circling in place, looking like a foolish dog trying to bite its own tail. Was it a sense of crisis? Anticipation? Excitement, hesitance, or bewilderment? Because a sudden possibility had struck him: among the gods blocked by the God of Order as they attempted to break through the blockade and return to this era, were there the likes of Augurev? Tyrannus? The Twelve Knights of Order? In the new era constructed by the God of Order, there was no need for gods—and that "no need" in truth included them as well. Would those guardian deities who were once Order's most devout champions turn into Order's bitterest, most hateful enemies upon their return? When those "esteemed figures" recorded in the annals of the Church of Order—whose outstanding contributions had been sung and praised for countless years—finally descended, would they raise their butcher's knives directly against the faithful of Order who welcomed their return with tears in their eyes? Kevin stopped spinning. A shiver ran through him, and he raised his dog head once more to stare at the statue of Augurev. Augurev, would you? "Haha!" Daliwenluo's voice rang out from behind, a contingent of bald believers trailing in his wake. Just as Kevin was pondering these grave divine relations, Daliwenluo scooped him right up into his arms. "Come, pay your respects!" A gathering of bald heads plus one bald golden retriever offered their highest homage to the distant, equally bald statue of Augurev. In Daliwenluo's eyes, the Augurev of the past was none other than the future him! As long as he followed Karen's footsteps resolutely, then once Karen eventually stood in that supreme position, his own bald statue would also stand tall and unyielding in this world. Kevin twisted his head, glancing at Daliwenluo, whose face was flushed with excitement. Thinking back to Augurev's end, Kevin suddenly felt this bald fellow was rather pitiful. *** In the central area of the fortress, long tables were arranged, laden with food and wine. Feeding this many people simultaneously meant the spread couldn't be overly lavish, but the setting itself was already exceptionally prestigious. Only the Whip-Wielder possessed the clout to borrow this entire fortress to host his system's "annual gathering." Miguel walked over of his own accord to guide Karen. Along the way, the servers lit up with excitement upon seeing Karen. None dared approach, but they bowed respectfully to him from a distance, and Karen nodded back in steady acknowledgment. Karen asked Miguel, "These servers are all quite young." "Half are newly inducted believers, and the other half are students drawn from Order University—all about to be assigned to their first posts." "Ah, I see." "When word got out that they could serve you here and attend to the Whip of Order Corps returning from the front lines, these young believers signed up in droves. We didn't even have to pay them a stipend, just reimburse their teleportation fees. Though honestly, I imagine they would have gladly paid their own way too." "Did you suggest that to the Whip-Wielder?" "How could I possibly suggest that? Wouldn't that humiliate our Whip-Wielder? Haha." The banquet layout centered on a circular raised platform surrounded by dining tables. Just before stepping onto the platform, Miguel paused and reached out to straighten the cuffs and collar of Karen's clerical robes. "You really don't have to trouble yourself." "Haha, trouble myself? You're the guest of honor today." Though Karen spoke politely, he made no move to stop him. Instead, he stood there calmly and graciously, letting Miguel adjust his attire. It wasn't that Karen was putting on airs; rather, this subtle shift was precisely what would put the other man at ease, reassuring him that their relationship could continue to thrive under this new dynamic. "There." Miguel took half a step back, nodding in satisfaction. "You look sharp enough to head straight to your own wedding as the groom, haha." "Haha." Karen reached out and patted Miguel on the arm. "Thank you." "You're too kind." Miguel looked up and moved to pat Karen's arm in return, but hesitated halfway. Lowering his hand, he lightly tapped the back of Karen's hand twice instead. "The Whip-Wielder and the other lords are all up above—and not just the lords from our own system." The implication was clear: several department heads of equal standing to the Whip-Wielder had also been invited today. "Understood." Purr hopped onto Little Kanna's head, choosing not to follow further. Karen climbed the stairs. The raised platform was divided into three tiers. The first tier was the most spacious, occupied by regional directors of the same rank as Karen. When Karen stepped onto this level, every single one of them rose to offer their congratulations and regards. Before marching off to war, these people had been peers of equal rank. Now that he had returned victorious, everyone naturally and consciously adopted the posture of subordinates before Karen. After exchanging brief pleasantries with the directors, Karen pointed toward the upper tiers. Looks of realization and understanding appeared on their faces, and they gestured for him to head up without delay. Amid an atmosphere of harmonious warmth, Karen climbed to the next tier. This harmony was not an act. Had Karen merely taken the Whip of Order Corps on an easy stroll across the battlefield to coast by until the end, envy and indignation would have run rampant. People would have chalked it up to luck, thinking, If it were me, I could have done it too—that was simply human nature. Yet Karen's military achievements on the front lines were simply too dazzling. Leading a corps cobbled together from Whip of Order squads, he had secured one major victory after another, bringing immense honor to the entire system. None could help but be convinced. These were individuals who had reached the rank of regional director, after all; they had at least that much breadth of mind and discernment. Scarlett sighed, sitting back down with her wine glass. A female director beside her teased, "Sigh, looks like you'll never get the chance to pay back those lashings you took." Scarlett glanced at her and smiled. "Why do I hear a hint of jealousy in your tone? What, is your skin itching? Do you want our Corps Commander to give you a taste of the whip too?" The next tier up was occupied by the true upper echelon of the Whip of Order system—the second-in-command, the third-in-command, and others of their stature. When Karen stepped onto this level, they all stood up, wine glasses in hand, to converse with him. Karen lingered here for a good while. There was no sense of lofty condescension; everyone seemed exceptionally affable, warm, and genial. Karen did not mention leaving, but the second-in-command pointed toward the top tier. "All right, head on up. The Whip-Wielder and those lords are waiting for you, and the people below are all waiting for the feast to begin." "Yes. Please excuse me, my lords." During their conversation, Karen had been neither servile nor overbearing, but before departing, he offered a solemn bow. The lords present set down their wine glasses and returned the bow with utmost seriousness. Andilao stepped forward to escort Karen up the stairs. One of the officials muttered softly, "Is it really necessary to be so grave? Even if he joins us up here, won't he just be our equal in rank?" The second-in-command flicked his wine glass with a finger, producing a crisp chime. "Take a look at how many major figures the Whip-Wielder invited up there just for him. Yes, purely in terms of rank, we might be peers in the future. But factor in his age, and every one of us is already beneath him." A hush fell over the group, followed by a chorus of sighs. Youth, before you climbed to the top, was a disadvantage; but once you reached the top, it became a terrifying advantage that drove everyone around you to despair. At Karen's age, even if he did nothing from now on but sit in his office reading newspapers every day, he could outlast them all by sheer seniority and years until every last one of them was transferred to the First Knight Order. In the face of such a colossal age gap, all rivalries, schemes, and power struggles lost their meaning. The man stood invincible on youth alone. *** Karen felt a flicker of doubt over the unusual warmth Andilao displayed. There was no need for him to make it so glaringly obvious; theoretically, among the lords on the second tier, Andilao was already the closest to him. Halfway up the steps, Andilao slowed his pace and whispered, "Karen, we're friends, aren't we?" "Of course, my lord." "Good." Andilao patted Karen on the arm and turned to head back down. The space above was a private gathering for figures of the Whip-Wielder's stature; he was not qualified to enter. Karen reached up to touch the spot on his arm where he had just been patted. A sudden thought crossed his mind: Andilao was the head of the Discipline Inspection Department. Could it be that the post the Whip-Wielder arranged for his return was to replace him? Karen had previously served alongside Neo as director of the Discipline Inspection Committee Office in their region. He knew very well that the floor of this department was remarkably low—back then, he and Neo had essentially rebuilt it from scratch. Yet at the same time, the ceiling was extraordinary; theoretically, there were very few matters it could not intervene in. Whether it sat at the floor or reached the ceiling depended entirely on its leader. A forceful leader could elevate the department to formidable heights, and vice versa. Andilao hailed from the academic faction. His appointment to this post was itself the product of compromise and political balance. The loose, fragmented nature of the academic faction meant he lacked strong external backing, so he was by no means a forceful department head. Of course, within the Whip of Order system where the Whip-Wielder's word was law, no department head could ever truly be called forceful. If that was indeed the case, what was the point of Andilao dropping hints to him? Was he hoping Karen would take the initiative to decline and step aside? Just how cornered had he become to harbor such an unrealistic hope? Most importantly, how much effort and political capital would it cost the Whip-Wielder to pry open a ministerial post within his own system? Did Karen even have the standing to pick and choose here? Collecting his thoughts, Karen stepped onto the top tier. The top tier had the smallest area—merely a ring of sofas arranged around a central coffee table. The Whip-Wielder and seven other lords sat there. As Karen emerged, Cardinal Kred pointed with the hand holding a cigar and chuckled. "Look at that, our Scorn of Order has arrived. Hahaha." The other luminaries chuckled along, chiming in one after another: "Karen, would you consider coming to my Propaganda Department? The position of the High Priest's press spokesperson can be yours." "Come to my department instead. That bone dragon of yours has fine blood, but I can gift you a sub-divine beast with divine lineage." "What's the point of something with only a sliver of divine blood? I have divine artifacts—artifacts, hahaha! Come to my department, and you'll be granted the right to borrow divine artifacts, with indefinite extensions." "Hey, are you treating me like I'm already dead?" The Whip-Wielder scolded them with a chuckle, then stood up and walked toward Karen. It was only a few steps, yet to Foden, each step felt slow. He looked at Karen with a calm gaze, his mind turning over a thought: If this young man before him was like the High Priest, then whose legacy was he inheriting? Indeed, Foden was already trying to match Karen to a divine seat. Analyzing Karen's personality and known record, he cross-referenced them with the historical "branch gods" of the Church, though he had yet to find a fitting match. "Whip-Wielder." Karen bowed to Foden. Foden smiled, wrapped an arm around Karen's shoulder, and turned to face Kred and the others. "Tell me, doesn't he resemble me in my youth?" The lords fell silent. They looked at one another, but none cracked a joke—no one said anything like, You were never this handsome when you were young. Everyone understood that by speaking these words in front of them, Foden's political intent was already abundantly clear. This was not something to be joked about, nor could the slightest irreverence be tolerated. It signified the succession of the Church's Whip of Order. This was the very reason Foden had invited them today: he sought their acknowledgment. Even so, the lords present were hardly surprised. Given Karen's accomplishments and his age, had he been in their own departments, they likely would have been moved to groom him as their successor as well. Unfortunately, those with sufficient rank were already advanced in years and tangled in complex factional webs, making them difficult to mold; while those who were young had ranks far too low, carrying too much risk, requiring too much investment, and lacking proven plasticity. Kred set down his cigar and said, "You're right. He truly does resemble you." With Kred taking the lead, the other lords nodded in agreement: "He really does." "Indeed." "Foden, I'm starting to feel a little jealous of you." Hearing this, the smile on Foden's face grew even brighter. He gave Karen's shoulder a hearty squeeze, displaying deep approval. Yet deep inside, he sneered coldly: Humph, a bunch of blind fools!