My Lord!

"Aha, let me guess what's for dinner tonight, my dear Miss Xili." Holding his wife's hand, Mavaglio asked eagerly as he walked toward the dining room. Wearing an apron, Xili emerged from the kitchen and replied with a smile, "Mr. Mavaglio, tonight's dinner is—" Just then, Ventura pushed open the door, walked in, and called out, "Xili, you need to come with me." "Right now?" "Yes." "Oh, alright. I'll go change." Seeing this, Mavaglio, who was waiting for dinner, stood up and demanded of Ventura, "Hey, hey, hey, what is the meaning of this?" Ventura bowed to Mavaglio and answered, "Lord Child of God, these are orders from above." "So what does Karen mean by this? My wife and I haven't eaten yet!" To sponge meals with such righteous confidence was indeed rare, but the Lord Child of God truly possessed the standing for it. After all, theoretically speaking, whichever family could invite him to dinner was practically equivalent to bringing a consecrated idol from a temple home to enshrine at their dining table. Ventura said, "This order was issued in the name of the Whip-Wielder's Office." "Uh..." The displeasure on Mavaglio's face faded, replaced by confusion. "Could it be that the Whip-Wielder wants a taste of Xili's cooking?" "I wouldn't know about that." "Didn't Karen go to the Dinge Region and say he wouldn't be back for dinner tonight? Can't he cook for the Whip-Wielder himself?" "Lord Child of God, I don't know. My orders are only to escort Xili to the Dinge Region." Mavaglio waved a hand. While the status of a Child of God was exalted, he was well aware in his heart of the gap between himself and the Whip-Wielder's seat. Ventura walked further inside and reminded Xili, "Be sure to bring seasonings and side dishes." "What about the main ingredients? I bought a lot of groceries for tonight." "No need to bring those." "Understood. Mr. Ventura, please wait a moment." "Take your time. I'll help you pack." Before long, Ventura carried the bags downstairs for Xili, and they climbed into the black carriage waiting in front of the castle. It was Xili's first time riding in such a carriage, so she appeared somewhat uneasy. Ventura smiled. "Don't be nervous." "Mhm, okay." Xili took a deep breath, trying her best to make her expression seem natural. As a maid, she could be considered worldly. Whether it was seeing dead people come "back to life" at home in the early days, or having to pass through barriers every day just to buy groceries now, these were things an ordinary maid would never experience in a lifetime. Xili wasn't particularly brave; she was sustained entirely by her generous salary. Later, on Karen's orders, Alfred had saved Xili's family during a massacre targeting purple-haired people. That had made Xili boundlessly grateful, so whenever she encountered anything bizarre afterward, she would hypnotize herself: *Ah, what a wonderful world this is! I'm not scared at all!* Even so, despite having weathered plenty of storms, when she experienced a teleportation circle for the first time, Xili was still frightened out of her wits. "Ah, Mama!" When they arrived at the Dinge Region's teleportation circle, she plopped right onto the ground and screamed at the top of her lungs, drawing eyes from all around. Ventura helped her up and spoke gentle words of comfort. Fortunately, the shock came and went quickly. Xili soon composed herself and followed Ventura into another carriage. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Ventura. I lost my composure just now." Inside the carriage, Xili engaged in self-reproach. "It's fine. Everyone's like that their first time." "Where are we now? Oh my, why did the sky become bright?" "Because—" "Mmh, that iron tower... Is this Saint Antis?" "Oh? You know this place?" "Many stories in Miss Purr's romance novels take place in this city," Xili said rather bashfully. "I've read them all and always wondered what kind of city it was. It felt like everyone living here is in love." "If we went by novels and films, people elsewhere would probably think we folks in Yorktown spend all day busy with coups and murders." Karen loved reading, and this habit naturally rubbed off on his subordinates. Just like the Whip-Wielder's fondnesses for cigars and golf, this sort of emulation was a completely natural phenomenon. "It's truly magical. This feels just like a dream." "Would you like to take a rest?" "Ah, Mr. Ventura, I'm so sorry for bothering you." "No, not at all. If there's anything else you'd like to ask, feel free." "No, I don't want to ask anything else. I'm just a maid. I only need to do my duties well. The Young Master's affairs and your affairs aren't things I need to know." "Everyone has curiosity. I understand." "If I stop being a pure maid, the Young Master might not need me anymore." The carriage traveled swiftly yet smoothly. Xili allowed herself to watch the scenery for only a brief while before forcing herself to lie on her side on the bench and sleep. She knew she would have work to do soon; the Young Master wouldn't summon her all the way here for no reason. Little Stone mused over Xili's parting words, thinking they held great wisdom. Just like his own self-positioning at the Director's side: he was a subordinate, a follower. He wouldn't have so many strange, convoluted thoughts like Daliwenluo. Upon reaching the square's teleportation point, the carriage stopped. After getting down with Xili, Ventura didn't rush to show his credentials to enter. Instead, he urged the driver to hurry and write a receipt so he could get reimbursed when he went back. The driver replied, "My lord, there's no need for a receipt. This will be charged to the public account of the Yorktown Region..." "This is an official mission from headquarters! How could it be charged to the Yorktown Region?" "Oh, alright." After all, wasn't reimbursing from the Yorktown Region still drawing coupons from his own Director's pocketbook! Around them, the Whip of Order security personnel in the open and in the shadows watched this scene with sheer bewilderment. They recognized the details of the clerical robe on Ventura and knew his rank; this was truly their first time seeing a high-ranking official haggle so meticulously. Little Stone couldn't care less what others thought of him. When returning from the front lines, everyone else traveled light after handing in their gear, but he had gone to the quartermaster's warehouse to claim dozens of crates of towels, soap, and other daily necessities, then turned into a giant to haul them all back! For a time, the garrison personnel at Augurev Fortress had mistaken him for a Giant Elder from the frontline army taking a wrong turn. Bart had teased Ventura, asking if he really needed to go that far. Little Stone had ignored him, because Little Stone believed this was the very reason he could enter the performance hall while Bart could not. Once their identity documents were inspected, Ventura took Xili and teleported to the island. At the manor gates, Ventura saw Philomena. "Xili goes in; you stay behind." "Mhm." Ventura nodded and stopped in his tracks. Xili carried the bundles and bags by herself into the manor. The scenery inside was truly breathtaking. Following the path inside for a stretch, Xili saw the Young Master sitting on the meadow, with an old man seated across from him. When Buken saw Xili, he couldn't help teasing: "Fine taste, young man. I thought you youngsters didn't understand what true satisfaction and pleasure were, fancying only those scrawny lamb cutlets." Karen ignored him, stood up, walked over to Xili, and reached out to help carry her things, but Xili took half a step back and refused: "Young Master, I can carry them." "The kitchen is on the first floor; you'll see it as soon as you enter. The ingredients are down in the basement. Go get whatever you need. Thank you for your hard work." "It's no hard work at all, Young Master, hehe." Xili went inside, began unpacking her bundles, and set to work. Karen walked back to Buken and sat down again. Buken said, "When you said earlier that you were going to cook personally, you gave me quite a fright." "Is a hobby for cooking so strange?" The Whip-Wielder had once enjoyed catching ants, having Augie spit dragon breath to help catch them. "Not because of the hobby, but because I thought you were so eager and anxious to obtain my legacy that you stooped to such flattery, which disappointed me a little." "I have no need to flatter you." "True enough. Who would be foolish enough to fawn over a predecessor right in front of the incumbent?" "It's merely standard procedure. Back when our funeral parlor had business, I was also in charge of catering. Adding an extra service item brought in an extra bit of revenue." "There is a glow in your eyes when you mention this?" "Is there?" "Yes, but it's an invisible light—I sensed it. That proves what comes out of your mouth isn't what's truly on your mind." "You are being oversensitive." "Are you questioning the professional expertise of a former Whip-Wielder?" "Of course not." "You've lowered your guard around a dying man like me. If I were Foden, based on this alone, I would arrange for people to reinvestigate your background file. "Hah. Workplaces, grassroots, the Inquisitorial Office... tsk, none of those could touch the softest spot in your heart when you reminisce. That was your most cherished, most deeply missed experience." Karen wore a smile, but his heart jolted with sudden vigilance. Buken blew on his fingernails and continued, "There is a problem with your file." "What kind of problem?" "The fact that there's not the slightest flaw in it is the biggest problem." "That sounds a bit..." "Your promotions and merits are concentrated in the last two years. An ordinary priest's entire lifetime can't hold a candle to the brilliance of this short span. Never mind the rest; just look at one detail: you went for a physical examination at a Knight Order garrison hospital." "I did take a physical examination." "It was too deliberate. You know that? You wanted to make your resume more solid, to put investigators at ease should anyone check into you, especially that perfect score on your faith evaluation. "But that's not your fault, nor could you fix it. It can only be said that back then, constrained by your rank and realm, your vision and horizon were entirely different from what they are now. "The you of today would never go out of your way to do such things, but back then, not doing it made you feel uneasy, insecure." Karen took a sip of ice water. "Still, no need to worry about any of this. Foden is far more sensitive than me. Let me let you in on a secret: his professional caliber is sharper than mine. When it comes to being the Whip-Wielder, he outclasses me. "So for him to place you in the successor's seat and bring you here means he must have investigated you thoroughly and found nothing amiss. "Of course, it's also possible you confessed to him. Did you?" Karen remained silent. "You couldn't have been his man from the very beginning, otherwise you wouldn't have gone for that physical." "What flavors do you prefer? Can you handle spicy food?" "Heh heh." Buken blew on his nails again. "Another thing is that the excellence you've displayed can no longer be described as mere 'genius.'" Buken picked up his wine glass and took a sip: "A genius is just a genius, after all, but you've far exceeded the scale. Count your blessings that you're in the Whip of Order. You can protect and patch up your own records at will, and right now, no one can bypass your senses to conduct a deep investigation into you. "Had you been in another branch, it would be hard to say." Karen replied, "Everyone has secrets. I have no secrets that cannot see the light of day." "Just casual chatter. It's not like I'm going to report you. Would I give you my legacy only to destroy you afterward? I was stabbed through the chest, not punctured in the brain. "Even if you were a plant from an alien church, I could act as if nothing happened. It's none of my business anyway; it would just mean Foden was blind." "You are letting your words run away with you. That's not a joke to make." "Don't mind me. When one is facing death, one can't help becoming a bit more lively." "I can understand that." "Then what is it that you can't understand?" "What I cannot understand is why you would... collude with the Silencers." "Collude... such an ugly word. They wanted to recruit me into their fold, and I refused. Naturally, there was some contact along the way. Can you accept that explanation?" Karen shook his head. Buken said with some surprise, "Then you aren't Foden's man—you are your High Priest's man. Foden chose his successor well, politically correct to the core. It also indirectly proves that his health issues are grave indeed, haha." Karen did not take the bait. "I feel a bit of regret now. If I hadn't been in contact with them, I would have had a chance to enter the First Knight Order. But I'm also curious: if the sleeping forebears of past generations in the First Knight Order knew that today's High Priest holds such an attitude toward our Lord, what would they think?" Karen answered, "There is no contradiction." "No contradiction?" "I believe that defending Order unconditionally is the foremost principle in the heart of every member of the First Knight Order." "That is a bit too idealistic." "In three days' time, there is no time to dwell on idle thoughts." "That answer, I agree with." Buken pressed his lips together. "The time after being awakened is far too precious." The garrison of the First Knight Order held not only rows of coffins, but also sealed reserves of surplus war materiel. For a period after the Desert War erupted, logistical supplies had been severely strained, to the point where the Whip-Wielder himself had to oversee the rear to ensure military supplies for the Whip of Order Legion. The greatest consumption and most severe deficit lay in war armaments, yet no matter how immense the pressure grew, no one ever proposed tapping into the First Knight Order's war reserves to support the front. Those awakened "ancient paragons" had to receive equipment suited to them the very instant they woke, and be swiftly teleported to where they were needed. Making them sit and wait for gear to arrive would be a crime against history. A shadow appeared before them, and from within came the Whip-Wielder's voice: "Buken." "Coming." Buken slapped his knees and stood up. The shadow dispersed. "It'll be quite a while before dinner is ready, won't it?" "Yes." Karen also stood up. "Then I'll go have another chat with your boss. Call me when dinner's ready. Remember, you have to help me bathe after dinner. Has my new robe arrived?" "It has. It's a Whip-Wielder's robe." Buken gave Karen an unexpected glance. "A regular clerical robe of Order is fine. I won't wear that one." "Alright." Buken took two steps forward, then suddenly paused and looked back at Karen. "You didn't prepare a Whip-Wielder's robe for me at all, did you, kid? You were just trying to please me, knowing full well I'd decline." "I wouldn't make such a joke. I requested it from the Whip-Wielder, and he approved." "He truly treats you well." "You are the same, otherwise you wouldn't be willing to hand over your lifetime's accumulation to me." "It's not the same. I'm about to die. Huh, wait, I suppose it is the same—he's probably not far from it either. But it shouldn't be that severe; he could step down and recuperate without it worsening into sudden death... "Say, your file lists you as an orphan, but are you sure you're not his illegitimate son?" "I am certain I am not." "Mhm. Bloodlines only degenerate step by step. He doesn't deserve an offspring like you—he can keep dreaming." "Please wait a moment." "Hmm? What is it?" Karen took two buttons off his own clerical robe and walked up to Buken. Twirling his fingertips, he unraveled the damaged embedded arrays within Buken's robe, pulling out the threads to re-weave them and sew the two buttons back on. At the same time, he restored the self-cleaning array. The robe, battered from combat, gradually became clean, though slightly thinner and tighter. "You know who I'm going to see?" "I guessed." "Did he tell you again?" "No. While we were talking earlier, you kept picking the dirt out from beneath your fingernails." "That's just a personal habit of mine." "Meeting him calls for a bit more solemnity." Buken replied stubbornly, "Hmph, he is only *your* High Priest." Karen unfastened the decorative leather whip from his own waist and handed it to Buken. Buken swallowed hard, turned his head away, took the whip, and fastened it around his waist, muttering under his breath: "He is the High Priest after all..." Karen entered the house. In the living room, Simiris, who was sitting on the sofa, shifted her body sideways to accentuate the curve of her hips, teasing Karen: "You like this sort of thing, don't you?" "Boring." Simiris wasn't offended. Sitting up straight, she said, "I thought you would like it." Karen sat down on the sofa across from her, picked up a towel from the coffee table, squeezed out the water droplets inside, and began wiping his hands. "In life, you must be a self-centered person as well," she continued. "To be your wife requires a placid temperament. She only needs to appear when you require her; at all other times, she'd better stay quietly by herself. Most of the time, she would only appear as your 'fiancée' in your self-introductions." Karen remarked calmly, "When cleaning up the battlefield, a mass grave was found. According to captives, they were Wasteland priestesses rounded up on purpose; several of the corpses were found to be pregnant." "See? Isn't my husband obedient?" "Being husband and wife with someone like that is rather pitiful. Clearly disgusted, contemptuous, and utterly uncaring, yet for the sake of an alliance between two families, you still have to put on a show of jealousy. "When you mock me, have you ever considered what kind of sordid marriage you yourself are living in?" "You said it yourself: I don't care about marriage." "What you don't care about is him, but you do care about marriage. Otherwise, you could treat him far more peacefully, each going your own way. Your control over him is merely an outlet for your dissatisfaction with marriage. "Of course, within your Church of Life, you are probably an anomaly—someone with marital purism." Simiris did not deny it. She merely sneered. "As expected of the next Whip-Wielder of the Whip of Order." "You provoked me first." "It seems that with those two away, you don't even have the desire to put on an act." Just then, Labota and Delsen walked down the stairs. Labota said, "What's this? Did the conversation turn unpleasant just because the two of us weren't around?" Simiris shook her head. "Don't flatter yourselves. I was talking about *those two*." Labota and Delsen sat down on the sofa. Delsen chuckled and said, "Labota and I just compared notes. Guess what we discovered?" Delsen turned to Karen and said, "Before our Moon God Church went to war with Samsara, numerous frictions, skirmishes, and raids broke out where our missionary territories overlapped. But after comparing notes, we found that eighty percent of them weren't carried out by either of our sides. "Director Karen, don't you find that rather strange?" Karen replied placidly, "Not eighty percent. At most twenty to thirty percent." Labota said, "Is the discrepancy really that big?" Karen nodded. "It's merely that some things were too sickening, and neither of you was willing to admit them, so you pinned everything on our Church of Order." Delsen said, "Regardless, it was hardly honorable." "There's nothing dishonorable about it. Your Moon God Church took advantage of Samsara being freshly defeated by Order to seize Samsara's territory, only for Order to mediate back and forth, resulting in the reality that while you remain orthodox churches in name, your foundational strength has suffered catastrophic damage. "Don't attempt to gloss over or whitewash mistakes caused by your own foolishness. You're only fooling yourselves." Delsen and Labota both fell silent. Simiris chimed in, "Try to get used to it. He'll be the one dealing with us in the future." Delsen shook his head and sighed. "What we need to get used to isn't the Whip-Wielder, nor is it the successor. It's Order we have to get used to." Labota stroked the pet in his arms. "I just wonder whether the Church of Order will be able to get used to the new landscape once the gods return." "Heh heh heh..." Karen chuckled and said, "It really will be quite hard to get used to. After all, when our Lord returns, we will be returning to our era of absolute supremacy at the end of the last era." And just like that, the conversation was killed dead. Karen rose, went into the kitchen, and rolled up the sleeves of his robe. Xili helped tie an apron around him, then seamlessly switched into acting as his prep assistant. After working for quite some time, the dishes were finally ready. Augie and Daina appeared at the kitchen doorway with eager looks. They had stayed at Karen's home for a time and deeply missed Karen's and Xili's cooking. Untying his apron, Karen said to the two standing at the door: "Carry the dishes and set the plates. Note that these are already portioned out. We'll eat in the kitchen—it's more relaxed." Augie and Daina obediently stepped in to help. However, Karen soon noticed that the noise outside had vanished. Karen walked out. At the dining table, Buken was already seated. He was back, like a wraith, but the Whip-Wielder was nowhere to be seen. This made Simiris and the other two extremely cautious, like three quiet little quails. Because Buken's eyes were terrifyingly red, giving the impression that he might erupt and kill at any moment. One would fear the lofty Whip-Wielder, but not to such a degree, because a Whip-Wielder would never act without reason. But this former Whip-Wielder before them, in his current state, was truly capable of doing anything. Karen looked back at Xili in the kitchen. "Set aside another small portion." "Right away, Young Master." Once the table was set, Daina and Augie didn't linger in the dining room, slipping straight into the kitchen. Simiris and the other two hesitated for a moment, then also crept into the kitchen—truly exemplifying their fear of death to the extreme. Left with no choice, since Buken couldn't be left to dine completely alone, Karen—who hadn't planned on sitting at the table—had to take a seat beside him. Buken asked, "Can we eat now?" "Yes. Please, help yourself." "Good." Buken picked up the utensils and began eating. He ate very fast, wolfing down the food throughout. Karen ate only a little and drank a bowl of soup; the rest was swept into Buken's mouth. Setting down his cutlery, Buken said, "My apologies. The food was delicious, but my mood wasn't suited to savoring it properly." "Was it enough?" "I'm full." "Mhm." "Let's bathe." "You just finished eating; it's not good to bathe right away." "No need for formalities. If I don't die, people will get annoyed at having to keep watching over me." "Very well." Foden's figure appeared on the second floor. A cigar clamped between his fingers, he didn't head downstairs, but pushed open the door to his study. There, set out on the desk in small dishes, was a portioned-out meal for one. "Heh." Foden chuckled. Sitting down, he picked up the utensils and tried two dishes. "The taste is actually quite good." Foden focused on his meal. Once finished, he leaned back gently against his chair, lost in thought: "Nowhere in *Light of Order* does it mention which exalted figure was skilled at cooking..." ... There was a relatively large washroom on the first floor. Buken undressed and stepped into the bathtub. Karen picked up a towel and began scrubbing him down. There was no feeling of humiliation from serving someone; it felt no different from attending to his former "clients." Buken would soon be a dead man anyway. Cleansing the body at such a moment carried a special meaning: The wash at birth let you face this world cleanly; the wash at death let you bid this world a dignified farewell. Sitting in the tub, Buken raised a hand, and a barrier immediately enveloped the washroom. Buken spoke: "I saw him." Karen: "Mhm." "He granted me entry into the First Knight Order. As you know, your Whip-Wielder wouldn't dare utter a single objection before him." "That is wonderful. Congratulations." Karen's hands didn't stop their work, not even pausing for a fraction of a second. Buken asked, "Aren't you disappointed? What was meant for you can no longer be given." Karen nodded, then shook his head. "A little, perhaps." "Only a little?" "Mhm." "Boy, do you understand what a voluntarily bestowed legacy from me represents?" "I do." "Pretending not to care?" "Why are you so fixated on this?" "Why am I so fixated? Because I gave up the chance to enter the First Knight Order." "Hmm?" "It wasn't for your sake." Karen smiled. "I know." "What do you know?" "You felt inferior, felt you lost face, felt ashamed. Your horizon was crushed under his." "You..." "You were angry, furious, with a fire stifled in your chest and nowhere to direct it. In short, it felt terrible." "You brat..." "You could sense that he wasn't playing political games. He simply didn't care. He can pick things up, and he can let them go; he sees through it all. And that made you feel even more suffocated." "Alright, that's enough, that's enough, stop!" Karen said no more, continuing to scrub Buken's back. The old fellow had quite a few scars, some with residual elemental properties that persisted to this day, beyond the repair of even the church hospitals. "Are you the worm in your High Priest's belly or something?" Karen shook his head. In truth, it was merely how Karen himself viewed Buken. It was just that the High Priest's magnanimity was far greater than his own. The bath finished, Karen helped Buken change into a new clerical robe of Order—the most ordinary, common design worn by grassroots priests. After Karen smoothed it out, Buken meticulously stroked every detail of the robe, then stood before the mirror, examining his reflection. He asked: "Do you still remember the feeling when you first put on a clerical robe of Order?" "I don't." "So young, yet your memory is so poor?" "When putting it on, I thought I would wear it for a lifetime. So only when taking it off will I recall that first time." "Sigh." Buken fell silent for a moment, then chuckled. "My first robe lasted only three days before it was ruined on a mission. The point coupons I earned from that mission weren't even enough to buy a replacement. I had to wait for headquarters to reissue one, so out of necessity, I went to a secular tailor shop and had an ordinary one made." Karen listened quietly. "Back then, I told my comrades that once I reached the top in the future, I would definitely improve the benefits of grassroots priests." "Mhm. As it should be." "I didn't fully keep my promise, but the efficiency of robe distribution in our Whip of Order is the highest among all branches." "Yes, indeed." "That is my achievement." Buken walked over to the window and looked out. From here, a patch of azure ocean was visible. "Where is that dragon of yours?" "Probably playing with your octopus." "What could they possibly play?" "Asking whether it wants to be braised or steamed." "Heh heh, alright. Truly a dragon raised by you—quite picky with her food, too." "I'm embarrassed to have shown you that." "It's very well-behaved and clever. Although its divination was wrong this time, that was likely a trap laid by Foden. I don't blame it." "Shall I call them over? For one last meeting?" "No need. When I pass, it will sense it. Alright, no more dallying. Let's begin." "Right here?" "Right here." Buken turned around to face Karen. "Are you ready?" "I am ready." Second-floor study. Foden, sipping red wine alone after his meal, let out a sigh. "It's finally about to begin." ... A black starburst pattern appeared underfoot, encircling Buken and Karen. Buken said, "My body has already entered a stage of decay. Added to that are numerous old wounds and accumulated residue. Don't go stewing it into soup." "That joke is hardly funny." "Ha ha ha..." This kind of inheritance and bestowal had little to do with the physical body anyway; after all, priests weren't monster beasts. It primarily involved the transmission of spiritual power and soul power, but this process suffered heavy attrition, and the slightest carelessness could lead to irreversible consequences. Buken extended his right index finger, pressing it against the center of his brow. His soul began to burn, and his spiritual power surged into a boil. Karen waited in silence. In the living room outside, Simiris and the other two had come out of the kitchen. From time to time, they cast glances at the washroom door. The shielding barrier Buken had initially erected was merely for conversation; under such intense power fluctuations, its aura had long begun leaking through. The three of them knew full well what was taking place inside. If they truly wanted to carry out what they had spoken of on the meadow earlier—to find an opportunity to cut down Karen—now would be the best opportunity. Yet none of them would make a move. This was Order's domain. That those two dared to conduct this right under their noses meant they weren't worried about any interference—or rather, they didn't believe the three were capable of interfering in the slightest. Delsen said, "I'm feeling a bit frightened." Labota nodded. "Who would have thought this would be the final outcome." Simiris said, "Truly... a church of lunatics." Plunder, bestowal, absorption, inheritance—these were not uncommon in other churches either. The crux, however, lay in the antagonism between Buken and Foden. One moment they were fighting to the death, and the next, Buken was willing to bestow his everything upon the young successor designated by Foden, then meet his own end. What the three marvelled at wasn't their personal relationship, nor even the event unfolding before their eyes, but rather the logic of internal high-level political struggles within the Church of Order reflected by this very event. Struggles and factions—no church was an exception; they all had them. Yet throughout the history of the Church of Order, there had never been large-scale internal confrontation and division; that was to say, an internal war of true intensity had never broken out. They always managed to confine conflicts to a specific circle, never letting them engulf the entire church. Throughout the long history of the eras, this was exceedingly rare. Many churches had witnessed conflicts between their own gods during the last era, and in this era, had undergone church-wide turmoil several times over. A widespread, all-out civil war like that between Desert and Wasteland was hardly a novelty; it was merely unlucky this time, happening to become the arena where the Order faction and the alliance of other churches vied for dominance. Delsen asked inquisitively, "How do they manage it? It definitely isn't just good luck." Simiris answered, "Perhaps it's because they feel their First Knight Order is always watching over them. They worry more that if they act too disgracefully, they won't have the face to enter the First Knight Order after death." ... A ring of crystal brilliance enveloped Buken as the preparations continued. This scene bore an uncanny resemblance to what Ankara had actively done when the hunger addiction swallowed her. Yet Karen was not worried that Buken would go back on his word and launch a sneak attack like Ankara had. Because that Ankara had merely been a shattered god, whereas Buken was a whole person. Meanwhile, by the sea, a rich, fragrant, crimson liquid began oozing from the giant red octopus. It was shrinking, voluntarily condensing the essence of its flesh and soul. To make itself taste better for Little Kanna, it even gathered some seawater to salt and season itself. Little Kanna didn't act coy either. Transforming into her dragon form, her body now spanned over two hundred meters long. "Mmh, though I feel a little embarrassed, please rest assured: I will eat every bit of you and not let anything go to waste!" ... "At a time like this, in this kind of atmosphere, it feels like something ought to be said. But I've never liked such occasions, and Foden doesn't either. Still, I've read reports about you—you seem very adept at them." Karen answered, "That is because I am not yet the Whip-Wielder." "Heh heh, true enough." Buken looked upward. *Foden, are you sure you won't come down? What comes next is the moment of greatest risk. Aren't you going to watch closely from nearby?* "Karen, are you ready?" "I am ready." Karen closed his eyes and said in his heart: *Half and half. If you break your word, there won't be a next time.* Deep within his soul, in the mire, the statue of the hunger addiction slowly raised its head. Buken said, "Remember, do not force yourself. Your talent is already immense. A legacy like this can actually stifle part of your potential. Forcing yourself to absorb too much is a losing trade—you are still young, after all." "It won't happen." "Mhm. As long as you know your limits." Buken pressed his index finger against the center of Karen's brow. Soul power and spiritual power began pouring into Karen. By the sea, Little Kanna opened her maw, and the blood-red octopus began sinking into the dragon's mouth. The bestowals in both locations began simultaneously. Buken smiled faintly. "Old friend, don't blame me. Who told you to botch your divination? There's no other way—we must die together, heh heh." By the sea, the blood-red octopus whimpered, seemingly in reply, though there was no sadness in the sound. In the second-floor study, a smile touched the corner of Foden's mouth as he gently swirled the wine in his glass: "Oh, Buken, you are in for a huge shock. I guarantee it." ... Bearing his bestowal, Buken's soul consciousness entered Karen's soul space; Bearing its bestowal, the octopus's soul consciousness entered Little Kanna's soul space. The octopus looked up. Its gaze, once filled with wisdom, was flooded with shock in an instant: an imposing, majestic phantom of the Dragon God stood tall right here! "Wuu wuu wuu..." The octopus's consciousness assumed a posture of submission. The dragon might of the Rebel Dragon God was virtually a supreme existence in the world of monster beasts. In the last era, non-humanoid deities generally held low status. The Rebel Dragon God was an exception among them, and its exploits were widely celebrated throughout the circles of monster beasts. Buken looked up. His expression froze. Because he saw the great God of Order. For a moment, he didn't know what emotion or thought could possibly meet this sight. "You are... No... You... Exalted One... My Lord..." In the end, before his consciousness dispersed, the intense emotional shock and ineffable agitation compelled Buken to perform the most instinctive gesture of a believer of Order, the purest reaction of a devotee of Order: He crossed his arms over his chest and declared with devout reverence: "Praise be... to the great God of Order!" Immediately following that, Buken clenched his right fist and struck his chest heavily. Though half of his soul consciousness had already dissolved and no physical sound could be made, this "thud" rang with sonorous power. As a former Whip-Wielder, Buken shouted with his soul's intent toward the great Lord, resolute and unyielding: "Wield the whip, for Order!!" Having done all this, his soul consciousness gradually disintegrated. There was boundless regret, for after laying eyes upon "Order," he had no time left; yet there was complete fulfillment, for he had dedicated his everything to the great Order. In the final moment of his consciousness's existence, he let out a sigh: "Old friend... your divination wasn't wrong."