The Whip-Wielder's Answer!

The Whip-Wielder stood where he was for a long time, his eyes gradually reddening. Yet this was not out of emotion at having beheld a "god." He felt a touch of melancholy, a touch of helplessness, a touch of sadness... and a great, great deal of aggrieved frustration. Before, it had only been a nightmare, the worst outcome he could conjure up in his imagination, touched with self-mockery: first looking up to wait on the elder one, then looking down to wait on the younger one. Now... the nightmare had come true. He, Karen Silva, truly was a Child of God. "Hehehe... Hahaha... Hehehe..." Foden began to laugh. He sank back into his seat, laughing even harder, covering his forehead with a hand as his shoulders shook with convulsions of laughter. He couldn't help but admire his own damned perception. No wonder the High Priest had entrusted the team's intelligence work to him right from the start back in the day. He had sensed there was something wrong with Karen, and sure enough, something really was wrong with Karen. How he wished he could be wrong just once, misjudge someone just once, even if it cost him his professional pride. Children of God were not all cut from the same cloth. The gap between them was like that between lizardmen and Augie. The lowest tier of Children of God were summoned down through the church's deliberate arrangements and rituals; a classic example was Mavaglio. He was merely a vessel carrying part of the "Lord's" abilities and memories. The church granted him elevated status and prestige, but in reality, he was just a high-level pawn of the church. His life, his marriage, his work projects—all of it had been mapped out long before the church prepared to welcome that "Lord" down. The middle tier possessed greater personal initiative. They weren't summoned through prayers and supplications; rather, driven by some purpose, some need, or seizing a specific opportunity, that "Lord" wished to descend and notified the church to make preparations. Such "Lords" who chose to descend of their own accord, and the Children of God they formed, enjoyed far greater freedom in planning their careers and lives. Yet essentially, they were still "rare beasts" kept in captivity—it was merely a larger glass cage furnished with richer decor. One level higher came the category that gave the church a real headache: a certain "Lord" descended, but whether due to limited conditions or other reasons, they hadn't given the church advance notice. That "Lord" descended onto an Order believer. The believer would start having bizarre dreams, find inconceivable memories surfacing in their mind, and develop strange phenomena on their body. In the better cases, the believer or those around them would report it voluntarily, allowing the church to discover them in time and turn the "wild" into "domesticated." In worse cases, the believer's sense of self collapsed, yet it wasn't the "Lord's" conscious will taking control either. In truth, even a god's will, if fragmented and broken, could be terrifying, leading to behavior completely unlike that of the true deity. Such beings often wreaked immense destruction. In the history of the various major orthodox churches, similar incidents had occurred, but to preserve the reputation of their respective branch gods, the mythological accounts usually recorded them under the guise of "havoc wrought by demon gods." Because this was an era in which gods did not walk the world, true gods could not descend, which meant that when facing their churches, Children of God were always in a position of weakness in terms of sheer power. In short, the emergence of a Child of God was almost always either prepared for in advance, discovered in time, or eliminated in time. For every church possessed a temple and divine artifacts capable of comprehensive detection, surveillance, divination, and prophecy. Connections to their own branch gods ran deeper still, making them even easier to sense. Thus, it was virtually impossible for a Child of God to conceal their identity and live out a carefree life in secret. Most importantly, those descending "deities" weren't bored enough to do so... Yet across the long river of history, anomalies inevitably arose. The High Priest whom Foden followed was precisely such an anomaly. Lord Tyrannus held an exceptionally revered position in the history of the Church of Order: he personally organized and established the Church of Order, structured the church hierarchy, compiled the *Light of Order*... Moreover, across the epochs, the number of times this lord had descended was the lowest. Foden believed that this lord had to be very discerning, with exquisite taste, picking out his boss at first glance. The lord hadn't chosen wrong—he had chosen spot-on. But he had chosen so well that his boss completely disdained relying on the status of a Child of God to enjoy the pampered life of a captive pet, and instead turned right around and suppressed Lord Tyrannus! This was why the core circle led by Foden always maintained a humility and deference toward the High Priest that went far beyond ordinary superior-subordinate relations, trembling before him even after becoming church grandees themselves... They truly had no choice. Every time they looked at the administrative temple and saw so many High Priests, it was, in truth, a silent warning. Their boss had not only suppressed a god; he even... killed himself. By convention, every church tacitly kept their Children of God far from the center of power. But the Church of Order had misjudged things this time. In the past, the Temple maintained a sense of superiority over the High Priest, with the temple elders often holding an overwhelming advantage in seniority thanks to their long lifespans; Yet that advantage vanished before their boss, who instead held them in an iron grip. Foden then remembered that the Temple was currently scheming over candidates for the next High Priest, and Karen was among the contenders... Good. Very good. Congratulations to the Temple: after tending to this "father," they might well welcome an "uncle" next. Thinking this, the Whip-Wielder suddenly felt his inner misery ease. He spread his palms and brushed away the glass shards clinging to his skin. Once his emotions had vented, calm returned. What else could he do? Look at this subordinate he had promoted with his own hands: his conduct was so measured, so composed, without the slightest hint of a "crazed demon god." Therefore, like the High Priest, Karen was someone who knew his own identity yet could suppress it, keeping his core self in complete control. They looked down on the status of a Child of God because they wanted far more. What did Karen want? It wasn't hard to guess. Since he could compare Karen to the High Priest, he could naturally do the reverse... He wanted to escape the church's restrictions and control over a Child of God; he wanted to become... the High Priest! *Smack!* Foden clapped his hands. How wonderful. I have such a splendid pair of control subjects. Foden picked up the bottle and took a swig straight from the mouth. Look on the bright side. Keep things in perspective. At least he would never have to worry about work matters again. For the High Priest's attitude and thoughts, he could find the answers through Karen; the tasks assigned by the High Priest, he could delegate to Karen. He could simply act as a subcontractor in between. After all, you two "Lord Children of God" can understand each other and satisfy each other. Foden walked over to the unconscious Punk and checked on him. Confirming there was no serious danger, he didn't bother doing more. Right now, he wished it had been him who fainted earlier. However, it was precisely because Punk had passed out too quickly—the impact of gazing directly upon a "god" being too violent—and had his recent memories wiped upon the removal of the steel needle, that he hadn't had the chance to remind the Whip-Wielder: What the statue of Augurev had seen wasn't Karen, but the dog beside Karen. The dog beside Karen... was a god. This was perhaps a wonderful misunderstanding. Relying on his staggering insight and analytical acumen, the Whip-Wielder had guessed accurately from motive to identity—except that everything was off by one tier. Karen concealed his identity initially not with an eye on the seat of High Priest, but because his surname was Inmeres; even now, "Mink Street" remained near the very top of the Church of Order's crisis incident registry. As for the identity behind Karen, it wasn't a branch god either. Yet the creation of this misunderstanding was by no means an accident. It wasn't simply that Karen had good luck and Foden had bad luck, preventing the truth from coming to light. If Kevin hadn't been sitting by Karen's side, but instead in his lap or on another side altogether; or if Kevin weren't bald and thus so conspicuous... had Punk truly directed the gaze of Augurev's statue onto Karen, let alone transmitting a message... he would have been obliterated on the spot. Foden walked to the edge and looked down at Karen, who was moving among the soldiers, offering toasts and expressing his regards. A wave of relief suddenly surged in his chest—relief that he had made preparations for the worst-case scenario ahead of time by stationing Karen's "Disciplinary Inspection Department" in the Yorktown Region. This way, at least spatially, he maintained a vast distance from Karen. He wouldn't face a scenario where, having just finished reporting his work to the High Priest, he returned to his office only to have Karen reporting work to him. "From now on, no one should say the Temple is the place closest to God. In the entire church, the place closest to God is clearly my Whip-Wielder's office." *** Philomena was saying goodbye to the members of her reconnaissance battalion. She was ill-suited for occasions like this; her heart rate would spike, anxiety and unease would grip her, and her palms would sweat. Fortunately, she had Richard beside her. Holding his glass, Richard clinked cups continuously with the recon members, clapping them on the shoulder amid a boisterous atmosphere. To an outsider, one might have thought Richard was the battalion commander. The scouts were happy to show Richard respect. For one, as the corps commander's adjutant, he held high rank; for another, seasoned veterans that they were, how could they have missed the fact that Richard was always carrying buckets into their boss's tent? At each table, Richard warmed up the crowd, tossing back drinks in quick succession, bantering to build up the mood, and before moving on, he would raise his glass for a final toast with the table, nudging the expressionless Philomena with his elbow; as if a switch had been flipped, Philomena would drain her glass in one gulp. Not far away, Kaixi first looked toward her husband. He was bidding farewell to the array masters, laughing heartily, chatting about camp anecdotes, and reminiscing about fallen comrades... When they returned, his parents would probably be stunned to see their son like this. Was this really the same Aisen who used to look as if he were being tortured whenever the family sat down for dinner? Next, she looked in the other direction and saw Richard making the rounds table by table alongside Philomena. The scene looked remarkably like a bride and groom at their wedding. "Alas..." A mother was always most indulgent toward her son. By now, Kaixi had given up on resisting his inclinations. At the same time, she was well aware of a cruel fact: in this family, whether she resisted or not seemed to make no difference whatsoever. She could already picture it: one morning at home, she would finish waiting on her mother-in-law, then head downstairs to wait on her daughter-in-law. Gods above, why must I be sandwiched between the two of them? *** After the gathering at Augurev Fortress ended, the soldiers formally resumed their original identities, though for some, this departure was only temporary. "Has the roster been selected?" Karen asked Muri, who was sitting opposite him in the carriage, while reading a newspaper. "It is ready. Would you like to look it over, sir?" "No need. I trust your judgment." Muri would select the outstanding and suitable talents who had distinguished themselves in the army, transferring their posts to either the Yorktown Region's Whip of Order or Karen's own Discipline Department. This kind of talent selection was truly delightful, ensuring both unswerving loyalty and formidable combat effectiveness. After all, the essence of departmental power lay in personnel. In the future, within the Whip of Order system, in addition to his official titles, Karen would likely hear another moniker used to signal closeness and camaraderie: Corps Commander. While other department heads were still trying to groom, recruit, and unearth capable talents, Karen, through this military expedition, had virtually monopolized the core middle-tier talents within the system. The direct consequence was that once Foden stepped down, even if Karen did not become the new Whip-Wielder, he could hollow out whoever succeeded him entirely, just as he had done with Gaspol. "As for the personnel of the former Discipline Department..." Without so much as lifting his eyes, Karen said placidly: "Purge those who should be purged, retire those who should be retired, transfer those who should be transferred. I couldn't even afford to be polite with Andilao, so I certainly won't waste time on the remnants he left behind or the entrenched factions in that department." He was planning a full purge to clear the cage for new birds. Muri immediately nodded. "Understood, sir. I will discuss it with Mr. Alfred." "Mm." The carriage came to a halt at the barrier entrance of Order University. The carriage door opened. When the security cleric saw Karen seated inside, he instinctively took two steps back before compelling himself forward. With an excited heart and trembling hands, he took the identification documents from Muri. Inspection complete, the documents returned, the security clerics all knelt prostrate: "Greetings, My Lord." Karen said, "If I recall our church's etiquette codes correctly, this is not how one salutes." The security clerics snapped back to their senses, quickly rising, crossing their arms over their chests, and bowing: "Greetings, My Lord." Karen nodded in acknowledgment. The carriage entered the Order University barrier. Students returning behind them noticed the security clerics at the gate looking extraordinarily agitated and stepped forward to ask why. Soon, this little episode would be reported in the papers and circulated as an anecdote of a great figure. Karen, however, could not care less about one more such story; there were far more fabricated tales making the rounds anyway. For instance, the *Mythological Chronicles* paper Karen was currently reading: its publishing church was small, yet renowned for church-circuit gossip, to the point that publishing had become its primary source of income. This issue featured a romance between him and the "Goddess of Life" and "Goddess of the Earth," vividly portraying the star-crossed lovers forced by the cruel theater of war into tearful clashes. The plot was convoluted and bizarre, filled with baffling first-person accounts from "witnesses." Never mind uninformed readers—even Karen himself found it thoroughly entertaining. The carriage was permitted to drive directly onto campus, but at the gate it was stopped. It was the dean of the history department, who boarded the carriage with a stiff, constrained smile: "My Lord, allow me to guide you." Karen's intention in attending class here was to engage with the academic faction on equal footing, aiming to smooth over any resentment arising from his replacement of Andilao, so he had sent word in advance. As the carriage rolled further in, it was halted again. It was Dean Jax—the old man who had once taken Karen to the lakeside gathering—now wearing the exact same stiff smile as the department head. Soon after, the carriage stopped several more times, picking up more people. Just before reaching the academic building, it stopped once more, and Vice Principal Jakes, third in the university's hierarchy, squeezed inside: "Pardon me, make room, make room." The administrators who had boarded earlier had no choice but to squeeze together; the department head who entered first was already curled up like a frightened roe deer. Jakes was of equal rank to Andilao, one of the three academic faction grandees Karen had faced in the lakeside office back then. During that meeting, Karen didn't even have a seat. Now, Jakes was the one squeezing into the opposite bench. After Jakes climbed aboard, the carriage rolled forward only a few meters before coming to a stop. This brought an awkward flush to Jakes's face; he hadn't realized Karen's first class was so close. Putting on his mask, Karen stepped out of the carriage and headed toward the classroom, flanked by the throng of university leaders. Along the way, students were awestruck by the spectacle. With so many university heads in attendance, just what kind of exalted figure was this inspecting lord? Wait, why hadn't they been notified to do a campus-wide cleanup yesterday? Karen walked into the classroom. It was a history class; students had brought their own pillows, and many who arrived early to save seats were already fast asleep, catching up on rest. When such a crowd poured in, it shattered the sweet dreams of many students. Rubbing their eyes and looking again, they were instantly jolted awake, and those in the prime sleeping spots in the back hurriedly vacated their seats and moved to the front. Karen took a seat in the back row, and the university leaders around him sat down as well. Immediately after, administrators who were usually marginalized or isolated caught wind of the commotion and rushed to the classroom. Not even knowing who the masked Karen was, they squeezed in too. Department, faculty, and university-level officials kept arriving in droves, leaving later-arriving students with nowhere to sit. Unable to skip class, they had no choice but to sit on the steps. Outside the windows, students crowded shoulder to shoulder. Before long, someone "recognized" Karen. Because Karen's mask was not one that altered his physique, appearance, or aura, it was clear he was very young. Coupled with the fact that he had attended this class before, sharp-witted students quickly deduced his identity. Soon, screams of excitement echoed outside the classroom. More and more students skipped other classes just to rush over and audit this one. Even the steps inside the classroom were packed, and the area around the lectern was crammed. The principal looked at the vice principal, the vice principal looked at the dean, the dean looked at the department head... Glares passed down the chain until finally, someone stood up: "Anyone not enrolled in this class, get out! Disrupting teaching order will not be tolerated!" Regrettably, what should have been an authoritative reprimand proved utterly useless. In response, a thunderous wave of cheers broke out: "Director Karen!" "Commander Karen!" Karen had no choice but to remove his mask. Rising to his feet, he faced the students, crossed his arms over his chest, and saluted them. Instantly, the boisterous, ecstatic crowd fell silent. Though packed tight, every single student insisted on returning the salute. Immediately, those not enrolled cleared out, the students leaning on the windowsill outside hushed, and order was restored in a flash. Hiderod was humming a tune, briefcase in hand, on his way to his usual sleep-inducing class when the logjam on the stairs startled him. After struggling his way in and entering the classroom, he froze on the spot, his first thought being that he had wandered into another professor's open lecture. Yet on second thought... which teacher's open lecture could possibly draw so many university leaders to sit and audit? Administrators were busy people; how could they squander precious time and energy on teaching? Then Hiderod spotted Karen. Right in the middle of a cluster of white-bearded, white-haired, balding, greasy middle-aged and elderly men, the young man stood out strikingly. "Heh..." Hiderod chuckled. Now he understood. Walking up to the lectern, he said, "Class is in session." The students stood, Karen stood, and the administrators, lagging half a beat, stood as well. "Today, the topic of our lecture is the war history of the Church of Light, focusing on the few centuries before Light's extinction, covering the wars of aggression and proxy wars launched by the Church of Light..." Two class periods ended. Hiderod wiped the sweat from his brow, feeling a little tired. After all, he spent most of the year lulling students to sleep and rarely lectured with such fervor. "Class dismissed." Karen was the first to stand and leave his seat. Not a single student in the classroom dared move, and those outside remained hushed. Walking up to the lectern, Karen took out his class schedule and handed it to Hiderod. "Professor, your signature, please." "Of course." Hiderod pushed up his glasses, took up his pen, and solemnly inscribed his name in the attendance column. "You've worked hard." "The ones who worked hard are those who remained on the battlefield forever." Hiderod shrugged and said, "That is precisely why I oppose war. In the foreign campaigns of the Church of Light's final days, they too were winning victory after victory, yet the mighty Radiant Temple Corps still couldn't protect their Light." At these words, the university leaders in the room were visibly horrified. This was practically blasphemous, politically toxic to the extreme. Considering the post Karen was about to take over within the Whip of Order... if Hiderod's remarks were politicized, it would be grounds enough for Karen to launch an investigation into the doctrinal purity of Order University! "That was because they grew lost." "Hmm?" Karen said, "Whereas we are steadfast." Hiderod patted his hair and said, "It seems I may have been away from the front lines for too long; my thinking has grown impractical. Perhaps I should go see the front lines for myself. What do you think?" Karen shook his head with a slight smile. "You would only cause trouble, Professor." "Hahaha, fair enough." Hiderod reached out and clapped Karen affectionately on the shoulder, deliberately whispering, "Pat me back too—my professional title evaluation this year depends entirely on you." "Then you shouldn't have spoken so recklessly just now." "That's exactly why I've never been promoted." At noon, Karen ate in the university cafeteria, and in the afternoon he attended another two periods. During the break, students from the student union invited Karen to an evening gala. Karen accepted. After the lively singing and dancing gala, Karen held a closed-door meeting with the academic grandees led by Jakes. The meeting had no substantial agenda; it was merely going through the motions. They chatted about coffee, music, and even magic crystal cannons—nobody mentioned Andilao. In the early morning hours, Karen left by carriage. He could not yet return to the Yorktown Region, as the high-level representative assembly for the Whip of Order system was scheduled for the next day. At the conference, the Whip-Wielder would personally announce his appointment. Muri asked with concern, "Are you tired, sir?" "I'm all right. Once everything is wrapped up, I can go home and get some proper sleep." *** "...Afraid already? Cowering already? Thinking we need to pause, ponder, and hesitate? Heh. Are these the high officials of our Church of Order? Are these the leaders of our church's branches? Look at your spineless, cowardly faces—it is utterly laughable! The believers below may waver; the believers below may be lost. But you cannot! If even we waver, compromise, and wait to see what happens... then you, you, you, and you... including me, can all prepare to be judged by history!" Seated in the central area, Kred and several grandees beside him who had attended yesterday's victory banquet at Augurev Fortress frowned slightly. Why did those words sound somewhat familiar? The calmest among them was the Whip-Wielder. Well, he was long used to it. According to the latest reliable intelligence, seven orthodox churches—including the Church of Night, the Moon God Church, the Church of the Abyss, the Church of Principles, and the Earth God Church—had recently witnessed divine miracles in unison. There were manifestations of divine silhouettes, proclamations of divine oracles, and church divine artifacts collectively trembling and prostrating toward a single direction. If the return of the gods had merely been a prophecy in previous years... now, it was turning into reality at visible speed. The gods... were truly returning. During today's small meeting in the administrative temple, several branch leaders had voiced their thoughts on the matter, expressing a wait-and-see attitude. The High Priest had immediately seized on this passivity and launched into a fierce tongue-lashing. A gathering of figures who could shake the earth with a stomp outside were being scolded like errant children right now. Fortunately, this was a closed-door meeting of the core circle... and fortunately, everyone was used to it. "Meeting adjourned. Whip-Wielder, stay behind." Everyone stood and took their leave. Foden watched the High Priest before him sit back behind his desk and begin reviewing documents. Foden then walked to another corner, stepping into a tranquil space encircled by flowing water. The High Priest seated inside was crossing his legs and reading a novel, while Daina clipped a cigar for him at his side. Daina had returned from the front lines and performed very well; at a time like this, a display of "father-daughter affection" was in order. Foden thought that Daina had indeed matured. Her acting was far better than before; she used to tremble before the High Priest, but now her smile was natural. "The task I gave you earlier—have you completed it?" Foden nodded. "Completed, sir." "Foden." The High Priest set down his book and looked at the Whip-Wielder. "You know that I have always held you in high regard, and I have always believed that having your assistance is a blessing bestowed upon me by the God of Order." "To have the privilege of following you is the greatest honor of my life." "I hope you will not disappoint me." The pressure had already mounted immensely. Even Daina, clipping the cigar, felt the stifling oppression in the room, her breath growing shallow. As the High Priest's eyes and ears, the Whip of Order could tolerate no flaw, and this position was the very first that needed vetting and testing. Foden walked up to the High Priest and produced two bags. One was bulging, stuffed full of scrolls, while the other was much smaller. The Whip-Wielder pointed to the bulging bag and said, "High Priest, inside this are the overt strength assessments of the major orthodox churches, along with pros-and-cons analyses of launching offensives against them." The High Priest glanced at Foden without a word. Foden added, "It is thoroughly comprehensive. I have also included several large churches that, while not orthodox, possess foundations and power comparable to orthodox churches. None have been omitted." "Sigh." The High Priest sighed. That single sigh caused the flowing water outside to freeze into stillness. In the past, Foden's soul would have shuddered at this point, and he might have dropped to his knees to confess his fault and beg for punishment. Today, however, he appeared relatively composed. "It seems my memory has failed me. I didn't ask you to make a choice, but to conduct a background investigation." "No, you asked me to make a choice." The High Priest pointed at the bulging bag of scrolls. "And where is your choice?" Foden opened the second, smaller bag. Inside was a stack of bookmarks, each inscribed with the name of a church. The Whip-Wielder respectfully presented the stack of bookmarks into the High Priest's hands. Taking them, the High Priest looked them over and asked, "So, tell me: which one did you actually choose?" Foden pointed to Daina beside them and said with a smile, "High Priest, you can just have our little Daina draw one at random."