Hunger Addiction Erupts!

Karen withdrew his hand and said to Gaspol with a smile, "It will certainly be a healthy child." "Thank you." A soft smile appeared on Gaspol's face as she stroked her belly. At this moment, she radiated maternal warmth. Unfortunately, Karen was in no mood to praise or admire it; his mind was still chewing over the words he had heard earlier. As the inheritor of Marchettini, Mavaglio was indeed more likely to pass on certain special abilities to his offspring. Anything tainted by divinity was prone to unexpected transformations. When controllable—or temporarily controllable—it was called a god's blessing; otherwise, it was divine pollution. In essence, they were the same. Though Mavaglio's child had yet to be born, judging from the consciousness fragments Karen had captured earlier, there was definitely something wrong with it. This issue could not simply be explained by the inheritance of his father's bloodline. Mavaglio's inheritance consisted of memories, experiences, and a few special abilities. Yet the consciousness carried by this child, faint though it was, distinctly expressed the concept of the "present." From this, one could even deduce that the child surpassed his father Mavaglio in the hierarchy of inheritance. What was this—conjugate father and son? It gave Karen a nauseating sensation beyond words. The return of the gods did not mean a horde of terrifyingly powerful beings stepping back into this world through some teleportation array. Their return was like spilling a bottle of ink onto a book, the color slowly soaking through layer after layer of pages. Now, they were already seeping into every crack and crevice. There were no moral shackles, no rule-bound constraints, and none of what anyone took for granted. They were not enemies in the ordinary sense, because deities could not be neatly separated into the tangible and intangible. The Church of Order's resistance against the gods was not confined to a war against divine beings; winning or losing here held no conventional meaning: The house you lived in was catching fire, and you were preparing to put it out. "Are you feeling hot?" Mavaglio pointed to Karen's forehead. Karen wiped it lightly with the back of his hand and said, "Probably just didn't sleep well." "Have something to drink, then." Mavaglio handed Karen a teacup. Karen took it and lifted the lid—inside, it was packed full of cigarette butts. Karen calmly replaced the lid, set the cup down without a word, and said, "Let's head to the laboratory instead." Then he turned to Gaspol and added, "There's something I need our Child of God to help with." Gaspol urged her husband, "Go on, then." "All right." Mavaglio and Karen left the room. Karen had arranged a carriage, and upon boarding, he found Little Kanna sitting inside holding a book. Little Kanna said, "Mr. Alfred's latest instructions are that whenever you leave this barrier, I have to stick with you—just like the big clumsy dragon and the Whip-Wielder." "All right," Karen agreed. After Mavaglio climbed in, he glanced at Little Kanna and remarked, "You keep quite a fine pet." Karen patted Little Kanna's head and corrected him, "A child." "Fair enough, slip of the tongue." Mavaglio yawned. "Honestly, I'm a bit tired." "Don't say that in front of her." "Of course, not as tired as she is. You know, when a woman is carrying your child, as a husband, you can distinctly feel..." Mavaglio tapped the back of his head. "...that you've changed. You've matured. You ought to shoulder responsibility. In short, that awareness becomes so much stronger. Isn't that miraculous?" Karen nodded. "It would be miraculous if you didn't feel that way." "Er, fair enough." Mavaglio sought a change of topic. "How did it feel fighting on the front lines?" "Pretty good." "I thought you'd preach about cherishing peace or something. I was all prepared to chime in and humor you." "I don't imagine Lord Marchettini's memory fragments that you inherited contain any anti-war sentiments." "More than half the memories are about researching and developing specialized war implements to deal with other churches and gods. He was a warmongering madman." "So am I." "Heh, a general returning from a victorious campaign really does sound different." "How is your research project coming along?" "Not bad. My main work is compiling notes and submitting the crucial documentation. People from other relevant departments absorb and verify it. The research conducted by my own project group is just a very small part." "Oh, so that's how it is." The carriage rolled out of the barrier and into the urban district of Yorktown, where it happened upon an election parade. Karen remembered that on his first day in Wien, Eunice's mother had told him that in Yorktown, parades and demonstrations were as frequent as holidays. The carriage activated its cloaking formation, lifted into the air, and glided over the procession without the slightest hindrance. Karen lowered his head and looked down. He saw a middle-aged man sitting in the back seat of an open-topped car, waving and smiling at the supporters lining both sides of the street. The man looked familiar to Karen. Soon, Karen remembered who he was: John Rottini. Karen recalled that back when he first arrived in Wien, this man had just been elected mayor of the City of Manral and was hailed as a rising political star. Mavaglio glanced down and said with a chuckle, "He's already the head of his party and stands a good chance of becoming the next prime minister of the Wien Empire." Karen turned to Mavaglio, his gaze narrowing slightly. Mavaglio tried to act nonchalant, but Karen's gaze never left his face, making him start to feel uneasy. It couldn't be helped; even if the Child of God's composure far exceeded that of ordinary people, the person sitting opposite him happened to be the number two figure in the Whip of Order. Mavaglio shrugged. "Aside from reading the gossip columns about you in my spare time, I also read the secular newspapers. He's wildly popular right now because his campaign slogans are democracy and freedom, which voters love." Only after explaining did Mavaglio realize he shouldn't have offered an explanation. In front of this man, any abnormal behavior would be magnified endlessly under his scrutiny—especially when he was already staring right at you. Karen was in no rush to question him. Instead, he said, "My knowledge of this Mr. Rottini mainly comes from the papers as well." "Haha, we both like reading newspapers." "Except that paper was the *Order Weekly*." "Er..." "For quite a long stretch of time in the past, the *Order Weekly* dedicated a special section to two individuals: one was this Mr. Rottini, and the other was Mr. Luther. Mr. Luther was a leader of the purple-haired people's equal rights movement. You remember that, don't you?" "How could I not? When the pollution erupted, I was in Wien and sensed it myself. If you hadn't led people down into the cavern to retrieve the divine artifact, heaven knows what kind of catastrophe would have ensued." "I used to wonder why the *Order Weekly* would bother covering two secular politicians; it defied common sense. Then Mr. Luther gave the answer. "So now..." Mavaglio asked, "Ah, what are you worried about?" "I should be asking you. Tell me, what do you know?" "What could I tell you? The contents of my notes? That's top secret. Though I do have some secrets from my memory fragments I could share with you—they're quite interesting, haha." "It seems quite a lot has indeed happened during my time on the front line." "It's nothing major, everything is quite stable. Your control over Yorktown now surpasses that of virtually any formidable Head Bishop in the church's history." "Mavaglio, answer me seriously right now: yes, or no?" "Huh?" "I want an answer from you. Of course, you can choose to make something up on the spot." Mavaglio fell silent. After a long silence, he let out a heavy sigh and said, "I'm not a direct participant, but my project team had its research topic modified because of it, to provide some necessary support. The topic is: how to prevent the leakage of divine pollution and implement proper containment." "Heh." Karen let out a cold chuckle. "This 'God-Creation Project' is actually still going on?" "Since the dawn of this era, no church has ever abandoned the pursuit of divine power. Although Mr. Luther failed, one set of experimental material remains. They were always intended as a pair." "I see." "Good that you know. They'll be more careful this time; an accident like last time won't happen again." Karen slipped a hand into the pocket of his divine robe, but found nothing. *Rip...* Little Kanna tore a page out of her book, folded a plump paper crow, and handed it to Karen. Karen took it and spoke to it: "I suspect John Rottini will be the next Mr. Luther. Investigate this matter and all personnel involved with full force. Implement all necessary surveillance and deployments. Be ready to close the net at any moment." Opening the carriage window, he let the crow fly out. Mavaglio pursed his lips and asked, "Close the net?" "Last time, I had no choice but to lead a group of volunteers down into the cavern to wipe their asses. Do you know why?" "Because your heart holds a noble faith in Order." "No. It was because back then, my rank and status were not high enough to slap those bastards across the face directly." As Karen spoke these words, the hunger addiction within his body began to resonate, as if reminiscing about that sumptuous feast in the underground cavern last time. "Heh." Mavaglio subconsciously raised a hand and rubbed his own cheek. This was not flattery—there was no need for that—but rather because he felt the searing rage embedded in Karen's words. Karen closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat. "Since they want to restart this dangerous game, I'll let them get a good taste of its atmosphere first." "Er, I'd like to remind you that the plan was drawn up by a different system. Perhaps you could communicate with them first." "There's no need." "Oh, all right then." Mavaglio said no more. Compared to a high-ranking official like Karen, this "Child of God" was, most of the time, quite an easygoing optimist. The carriage arrived at Mavaglio's laboratory. The perimeter of the lab was secured and monitored by the Whip of Order; Mavaglio had to undergo routine identity checks every time he entered or left, while Karen did not. This made Mavaglio feel deeply aggrieved. "They're truly fools. They don't even know how to put on a show of professional rigor in front of you." Karen did not reply. He was feeling rather irritable right now. First, he had heard that voice in Mavaglio's home; then, on the way, he had run into the second experimental subject; and now that he was here, he had to re-forge a bond with that scythe. When a series of events you found utterly repellent converged at once, it would be strange indeed if one's mood remained calm. The staff in the lab bowed in greeting to Karen and Mavaglio. Along the way, Karen spotted Ophelia. Ever since the Princess of Dark Moon Island had arrived at the church as a "hostage," she had been working in Mavaglio's laboratory. On holidays, she would visit Eunice to have coffee and look at designs together. Karen stopped before Ophelia and asked, "How have you been?" Mavaglio rolled his eyes. "Hey, hey, no need for that tone. I've been taking good care of her the whole time." "I am doing very well, Minister," Ophelia curtsied again. When Karen had visited Dark Moon Island last time, he was only an escort attendant to the Yorktown Head Bishop. If Karen were to visit Dark Moon Island today, her father and all the elders would have to stand at his side and serve him attentively. "Feel free to drop by the house whenever you have time." "I will, thank you." After their brief exchange, Karen followed Mavaglio into his private personal laboratory. Inside was an expanded spatial pocket, arranged with various altars and formations, and displaying all sorts of bizarre objects. Mavaglio poured two glasses of fruit wine, added ice cubes, and handed one to Karen. "You know, I've already quit the habit of drinking water at home." "I know." "No, you don't. Not only in the cups on the living room coffee table—she even stubs out cigarette butts in the kitchen faucet." "Once she starts working, things will improve. You should show her more care, too." "She doesn't seem to want my care. Every time I show concern, she gets annoyed." "It still works; it's one of her ways to vent." "That actually makes a lot of sense. By the way, when are you getting married?" "I've been a bit busy lately. Once things settle down." "That's an excuse." "Yes, it is." "All right, let's begin. Step up onto that altar. Er..." "What?" "No matter what happens in a moment, rest assured, I'll keep your secret." "Thank you." "Don't mention it. With your current status, you can openly have secrets now." Karen stepped onto the altar, closed his eyes, lowered his mental defenses, and restrained any reflexive instincts that might flare up. The altar began to operate. This time, Mavaglio offered no introductions or preliminaries; he brought Karen straight into a consciousness space surrounded by stars. The two of them looked up in unison. Above them was a brilliant star, and behind the star loomed a gigantic scythe. The scythe seemed to detect Karen's aura and suddenly cleaved downward. *Hum!* Mavaglio opened his eyes. Under the scythe's cleave, he had been severed from the consciousness space. Yet Karen, standing upon the altar, still kept his eyes shut. The Child of God could have forced his way back in to observe, or simply halted the altar's operation altogether, but in the end he did neither. He picked up his cup of fruit wine and took a sip. Divine artifacts had emotions too. When you washed away its mark and wanted to claim it a second time, it would feel betrayed. Mavaglio had not warned Karen about this beforehand—not because he deliberately wanted to entrap him, but because he felt that toward someone capable of washing away an artifact's mark, there was nothing more that needed to be said. Swirling the wine in his glass, Mavaglio recalled the scene when Karen had blessed the child in his wife's womb. Karen had concealed it well, without revealing the slightest flaw. Yet given how they usually interacted, Karen should have made some lighthearted joke after the blessing, rather than stating with deadpan seriousness, "It will certainly be a healthy child." This inevitably reminded him of when he had taken his wife to the temple for an examination not long ago, and the momentary dread that had flickered through the eyes of the temple elder who blessed the child in her belly. Life in the temple was probably too sheltered and disconnected from the church's practical operations for too long; that person had grown lax, so their ability to conceal their reactions was far inferior to that of his friend, the number two of the Whip of Order. What was truly wrong with his child? *** Karen looked at the Scythe of War beside him. It had just swept down and severed Mavaglio away. Now it swayed back and forth, conveying a sensation akin to someone beckoning a finger at him in provocation. Karen raised the back of his hand toward it and said, "Leave your mark." There was no pious prayer, no weeping plea of gratitude—only a calm command. In this consciousness space, only he and it remained, so there was no need for performance. The Scythe of War was infuriated. It aimed its razor edge directly at Karen, as if threatening him. Karen looked back at it, not a sliver of fear showing on his face. Seeming to sense the provocation from outside, the hunger addiction within his body stirred once more—for the third time today. Although Karen had suppressed it each time, preventing a full eruption, it had thoroughly rattled his emotional equilibrium. The Scythe of War suddenly lunged forward. An endless sharpness rapidly coalesced above Karen's brow, descending as if ready to slice his soul clean in two at any second. Like a haughty white swan, it waited for Karen to beg before it. *Roar!* The sculpture of hunger addiction flared with rage, and Karen's eyes gradually took on a dark crimson hue. Rusted Chains of Order snaked out from beneath Karen's feet, coiling around the Scythe of War. A clash between them was on the verge of erupting. *** Temple of Order. Upon a star that enshrined divine artifacts, a beam of thought-light appeared. From within stepped the illusory figure of a man; though his hair was entirely white, his countenance remained young. The man's consciousness began to flicker, skipping across adjacent stars from his own until it finally stabilized upon the star where the [Scythe of War] was enshrined. The artifact's attendants all emerged and fell to their knees before the figure: "Greetings, Elder." "Greetings, Elder." The man walked further inside. Within stood a female temple elder. Upon seeing him approach, a complicated expression touched her eyes, but she still bowed to salute him. "Lord Wukongjia." Though both were temple elders, this man's seniority surpassed that of almost everyone in the temple. If the lifespan of a temple elder shattered the limits of mortals, then his lifespan broke the limits of temple elders. Because he had fallen in love with an artifact spirit; on the verge of perishing, he was willingly merged into an artifact spirit, granting him an even more protracted existence. He was a temple elder, yet now he was more like an artifact spirit himself; he had existed for a thousand years. Wukongjia looked at the [Scythe of War] enshrined in the hall and said, "I felt it—its abnormal movement." The female temple elder replied, "No, it hasn't. It is quite normal." Wukongjia shook his head. "It is disguising itself." The female temple elder looked astonished. Wukongjia continued, "Its preservation has been maintained too well, and your offerings to it have been far too lavish. Moreover, its participation in the church's operational apparatus has run deep, especially during times of war. "It is growing increasingly mature. "For a divine artifact, being too clever and possessing too much ego is not a good thing." The female temple elder immediately said, "Understood. I will report this matter to the superiors." "Mm." Wukongjia strode forward. His dharma body expanded continuously until it stood as tall as the towering [Scythe of War]. He pressed his hand against the divine artifact. Then, he slowly closed his eyes and murmured a query that utterly baffled the female temple elder: "Is that you, my dorm-hopping friend?" *** A formidable soul force manifested in this consciousness space that originally belonged solely to Karen and the [Scythe of War]. Immediately after, Karen saw a colossal Wukongjia walking through the consciousness space, searching. However, when Wukongjia entered, the [Scythe of War] took the initiative to sever the surroundings, effectively isolating Karen. Thus, although Karen could see Wukongjia, Wukongjia could not see him—unless he actively broke the restrictions here and seized control of the space. The [Scythe of War] issued a warning to Wukongjia. In the artifact's perception, Wukongjia was not an elder of the Temple of Order, but an artifact spirit. For the spirit of another divine artifact to intrude onto its turf was an egregious provocation. Its act of "hiding" Karen was just like children stashing away their toys for fear that another kid might snatch them. "In my slumber, I sensed your presence. I have been looking for you. I have searched for you for over a thousand years." Wukongjia gazed at the [Scythe of War] and raised his hand, seemingly preparing to suppress it to verify his premonition. Right at that moment, the [Scythe of War] enshrined in the temple began to tremble violently, sending tremors through the star. A majestic voice echoed down from above: "Wukongjia, your condition of losing yourself is growing increasingly severe." Wukongjia's consciousness vanished from the mental space. His figure shrank back to ordinary human size, and he stepped out of the shrine somewhat dazed, looking upward: "Am I losing myself... or have my senses deceived me...?" The voice from above spoke once more: "You have evaded your duty to God, and a complete artifact spirit was tainted and worn away for your sake. You have existed for over a thousand years, yet your contribution to God falls short of any junior. You are unworthy of your identity as a believer of Order." "Oh... is that so?" Wukongjia questioned again. "Prepare yourself. Sleep a while longer. Before long, the time will come for you to be deployed—and the time for your atonement." "My... atonement...?" "We have decided that you will lead the team to resolve the matter of that person." Wukongjia asked, "Is it that... apostate... who blew up the temple?" As he said this, Wukongjia's expression grew animated, as though his previously drifting consciousness had converged; because of this, the sharp perception he held while half-asleep and half-awake vanished. Wukongjia chuckled. "You still haven't dealt with him?" "Soon." "Fine, I'll wait." Wukongjia cast one final glance back at the [Scythe of War], then his consciousness leaped once more, returning to his own star. The female temple elder said toward the heavens, "My Lord, Senior Wukongjia mentioned that the spirit of the [Scythe of War] possesses too much self-awareness now, and that this warrants our vigilance." A response descended: "Then wear away its redundant consciousness. Niyalela, you will oversee the procedure." "Yes, My Lord." Niyalela walked up to the [Scythe of War]. Two frightening plumes of Fire of Order ignited in her palms; she was to burn away the artifact spirit's excessive ego. *** After Wukongjia departed, the [Scythe of War] resumed pointing its sharp edge at Karen. With no outsiders to interrupt, it still wanted to settle scores with him. Unlike other artifact spirits that trembled in dread before the aura of the hunger addiction, the spirit of the [Scythe of War] had always shown unyielding stubbornness. However, this standoff was quickly shattered once more. As if encountering something terrifying, the scythe flew toward Karen of its own accord without him needing to threaten, intimidate, or negotiate any further—not to attack, but to hide. Every living consciousness possessed the instinct for self-preservation, and artifact spirits were no exception. When the outside world decided to wear it away, it instinctively chose to preserve its self. *Hiss...* Karen felt a resilient imprint of consciousness frantically surging into his soul. If Karen had originally come merely to get a simple stamp, it was now equivalent to rubbing the entire inkpad furiously all over his hand. *** "Hmm?" Mavaglio noticed that something was amiss. As the inheritor of Marchettini, he possessed a special bond and sensitivity toward war artifacts that Marchettini had once modified, so he abruptly detected the change in the [Scythe of War]. "What is the temple doing? Purging it right now?" Mavaglio immediately aborted the altar's operation, and Karen, standing upon the altar, opened his eyes. "Karen, are you all right?" Mavaglio stepped onto the altar with concern, grabbing the back of Karen's left hand and rolling up his divine robe sleeve to reveal a perfectly normal black circular mark. "Whew, it succeeded. Seems your negotiation went rather well." "I thought it would be larger, something more distinctive." "Like mine, for instance?" Mavaglio showed the back of his own hand, which bore a vivid, striking mark of a scythe covering the entire area. "This represents the authorization level for using the artifact. How could you possibly surpass me?" "By the way, what just happened?" Karen asked. "The temple might be conducting a purge. You know, sometimes they don't bother notifying me. Perhaps they felt the artifact spirit had grown too mature and needed some pruning." "Oh, I see." "As long as you're fine. Actually, it's my fault too; I should have transmitted a usage notice in advance to the star enshrining the [Scythe of War]. I cut corners this time." It wasn't cutting corners, but rather having no way to report honestly that the same person was obtaining the mark twice in succession. "I'm a bit tired. Do you have any energy potion here?" "Yes, in the staff break room. I'll go get it for you. What dosage do you need?" "Human dosage is fine." "Haha, what an odd thing to say. Who would ever use animal dosages?" Mavaglio stepped out of the laboratory, and Karen sat down on a chair in the room. He rolled up his right sleeve. Unlike the modest mark on the back of his left hand, a scythe totem stretched along his right arm, extending all the way from his wrist to his shoulder. Except that the scythe on the totem was bound tightly by chains. The totem was not merely vivid; it was dynamically moving, the fierce struggle still underway. Karen ran a hand over his right arm, and the totem faded, no longer visible. If an ordinary person bore such a mark, they would likely be blasted into an idiotic madman by the artifact's consciousness on the spot. But for Karen, it was hardly an issue; let this bad-tempered, arrogant scythe be disciplined by the hunger addiction inside him. Still, going by Mavaglio's logic, didn't he now hold the highest authorization level for that divine artifact? Just as Karen was about to stand up, an intense wave of hunger suddenly crashed over him. Being provoked multiple times in short succession, coupled with the entry of a new "resident," pushed the hunger addiction—which had been docile for quite some time—toward a total rampage. This time, the hunger addiction really could not be blamed. Clutching his chest with one hand, Karen hurriedly pulled out a cigarette with the other, lit it, and took a fierce drag. But the suppression that used to work proved largely ineffective now. Mavaglio returned holding the potion. "Hey, could you not smoke in here? Do you know how precious the materials in my lab are?" Seated in the chair, Karen raised his head and looked at him. For a moment, Mavaglio was stunned by the crimson glow in Karen's eyes, nearly dropping the potion bottle from his hand. *Mavaglio: That look... is terrifying.* *Karen: He... looks delicious.* "Karen, what's wrong with you?" Karen shoved Mavaglio aside and said, "An old battlefield injury flared up." "I'll take you to the church hospital." "No, I'll go myself." *If you take me, I'm afraid I won't be able to stop myself from devouring you on the way.* "Are you really all right?" "Trust me, my friend, I'm fine. Get back to work; I'm leaving." Feigning composure, Karen walked out of the laboratory. Little Kanna, who had been waiting outside, immediately hurried over upon seeing him. Karen clamped a hand onto Little Kanna's shoulder. The little bone dragon possessed immense strength, supporting Karen steadily and helping him back into the carriage. "Return to the barrier at top speed." "Yes, Minister!" The driver directly made the carriage levitate, racing toward the barrier. Inside the carriage, Karen said to Little Kanna, "Notify Alfred to teleport the sealing coffin prepared for me." Back then, in order to suppress the hunger addiction, Karen had Alfred craft an exceptionally sturdy sealing coffin as an emergency measure against the most extreme outbreaks. "Are you hungry, Karen?" "Shut up." Karen looked at Little Kanna, the red gleam in his eyes flickering once more. Everything around him imbued with divinity had become the most mouthwatering delicacy to him. What the hunger addiction loved most... was gods. Little Kanna raised her arm. "How about you eat a piece of bone first?" *Smack!* Karen immediately grabbed Little Kanna's arm. Little Kanna stared with wide eyes, neither dodging nor resisting. Karen placed Little Kanna's arm back onto her lap. A dense cluster of Fire of Order condensed in his palm, and without hesitation, he slammed it straight into his own chest. *Hiss... waah!* Karen did not make a sound; the cry came from Little Kanna, who knew how agonizing that must be. "Karen, does that hurt?" "Karen, maybe you should just eat my bone. I have plenty of bones anyway." "Doing that hurts so much!" Suddenly, Karen could no longer hear Little Kanna's voice. The entire world seemed reduced to his own heavy, ragged breathing. This was the hunger addiction's first full-scale eruption since his strength had increased, and its intensity far exceeded his imagination. He knew he was on the verge of losing control... Just like in the soul space in the past when he tore through other souls, he would become a beast devoid of emotion and thought, driven only by the compulsion to sate its hunger. There wasn't enough time to get back, not enough time... All around, surges of the power of Order were forcibly condensed, forming a bizarre vortex storm. The carriage driver was hurled away by this terrifying force; protected by his divine robe, he was not killed upon hitting the ground, but fell unconscious. The horses pulling the carriage died instantly on the spot. The carriage ground to a halt, coming to rest atop a tall building. "Kanna, hurry, lock me down!" Karen roared. Little Kanna hesitated no longer. Lunging forward, she bit down on Karen's thigh. The power of the bone dragon surged into Karen's body, but this time, it was not to defend or buff him. Bone spikes burst outward from within Karen's body, nailing him in reverse to the carriage interior and forming a complete lockdown. In that instant, everything in Karen's vision turned ash-white. From the depths of his soul, a desperate craving tore from his throat: "Hungry... so hungry..."