Drip... drip... drip...
The dream had begun again.
A faint whisper of wind brushed past his ears, and the air was thick with the foul, muddy odor of rot.
Karen rolled over, wanting nothing more than to avoid this dream and keep sleeping. After all, he was already all too familiar with dreams that "invited" him in from time to time.
Yet footsteps approaching from the distance made him open his eyes on instinct.
The usual backdrop of the pool of water was gone, replaced by a swamp, and he was lying directly in the churning, sodden muck.
He thoroughly disliked the feel of it. He had bathed before going to bed, and dreaming this would leave him feeling filthy even after he woke up.
Before him, the scythe was still swaying back and forth at him.
It never seemed to tire of trying to chop him to pieces.
Once Karen opened his eyes, it swung with even greater zeal.
The divine artifacts consecrated within the Temple of Order periodically had the surplus self-awareness they cultivated purged. The last time the Scythe of War was purged, its primary consciousness had fled to Karen to seek refuge.
Although it had not yet reached the level of a true artifact spirit, it already possessed considerable spirituality. Because of its presence, Karen's command over the Scythe of War was currently vastly higher than Mavaglio's.
Karen raised a hand and shoved it aside, letting it throw its fit somewhere else.
Up ahead, a golden skeleton appeared.
She had once pried into his deepest secret. But after he "settled" things with her back then, he had warned her never to appear in his sight again, and indeed, she had stayed silent for a long time.
Yet now, she had appeared in his dream.
*Can't bear the loneliness anymore, itching for trouble again, are you?*
Karen slowly rose to his feet. The surrounding swamp shifted in turn—green grass and vibrant blossoms spread across the ground, and in the distance, a sea of lavender came into view.
The golden skeleton had vanished, but on the far side of the lavender, Karen saw Buken.
Arms crossed over his chest, he was silently prostrating toward Karen, tears streaming down his face.
Karen took two steps toward him. A flock of warblers swept past, and in a flash, the devoutly prostrate Buken was replaced by the cold-eyed Whip-Wielder Foden.
Foden spoke: "Before me, do you still hope to harbor illusions of getting away?"
Karen said nothing.
Foden continued: "I have already seen your secret. I know who you are."
Karen shook his head. Though it was a dream, everything in it felt remarkably vivid—so much so that he was willing to "play along" with it.
"No, Whip-Wielder, you don't."
"Do you think you're clever at hiding? In my eyes, you can keep no secrets."
"I don't believe you."
"Why are you so sure?"
"Because if you truly saw through my secret, you wouldn't be speaking to me so calmly."
Foden fell silent. His form dissolved into dispersing black mist, and in an instant, everything around seemed veiled behind thick black gauze.
Karen reached out and parted the black veil. He saw a solitary townhouse standing there.
The building was familiar, yet it took Karen a while to recognize it as his home on Mink Street.
Stripped of the surrounding streetscape and set here in isolation, it actually felt a little foreign.
At the entrance stood an old man.
As if hearing footsteps behind him, the old man turned around to look at Karen. It was Rasma.
"Brat, you finally dare to come back."
"Yeah."
Karen nodded, continuing forward.
"If not for you, Diss wouldn't be lying here, locked in deep slumber."
"You're wrong. Family is the dearest thing in my grandfather's heart, but the reason he chose to slumber wasn't for me. It was because he didn't want his hands stained with the blood of Order priests. Otherwise, how do you think you're still standing here alive?"
"Heheheh..." A dry laugh rumbled from Rasma's throat. "Kid, you've been away for a few years, and you're not the same anymore."
"I hope you aren't the same either. Otherwise..."
"Otherwise what?"
"Otherwise, I'll be very disappointed."
"Your grandfather never spoke like this, nor was he ever so arrogant."
"That was because Grandfather was old. As for what he was like when he was young, Lord Rasma, you should know best."
"Is that so..."
A voice drifted down from above.
Karen looked up. Suspended in midair was the majestic, awe-inspiring Throne of Order, and atop the throne stood a man wearing the highest-ranked divine robes of the Church of Order.
In quick succession, colossal beams of light plummeted, and temple elders descended one after another.
The earth began to quake, the sky began to collapse, and everything before his eyes was being ruthlessly torn to shreds.
"High Priest..."
Norton looked at Karen and said:
"There should no longer be any gods in this world."
"Yes, that's true."
"So, go and die. Return your power to my Lord, so that my Lord may continue to suppress this era."
"High Priest, he is already exhausted. Even without me, he cannot hold on much longer."
"Even so, that is no justification for your continued existence."
Norton raised his hand, and the Throne of Order began grinding downward.
*Boom!*
After boundless annihilation, only emptiness and void remained.
Karen turned around and looked forward. There sat a towering back, calm and still. Beneath him lay a mountain of endless corpses. The Sword of Chaos stood upright not far ahead, well within arm's reach.
Before him stretched a curtain of light as vast as the Milky Way, like the river of eras stood on end, out of which arms and legs were already thrusting forth.
If this scene were committed to canvas, hardly anyone would take him for a holy deity; this was unmistakably a demon unleashed upon the world.
Karen started forward. It was a long journey. As he walked on, he came to an abrupt halt—the figure before him was gone. That meant the figure was now behind him, and he was standing in front of it.
Karen turned around, wanting to glimpse his face.
He saw a rotting corpse, with countless dragon-like maggots squirming inside his hollow eye sockets;
Pustules swelled across his body, the bursting of each capable of triggering a terrifying cataclysm;
He sat here, bearing the curses of the gods.
Suddenly, within those pitch-black eye sockets, a spark of fire seemed poised to flare.
The decaying divine body produced a faint tremor.
*Snap!*
Karen opened his eyes and sat up.
He was in his bedroom, on his bed.
There was a trace of wetness around his eye sockets; Karen reflexively thought it was blood.
"Mm... had a nightmare?"
Sleeping at the foot of the bed, Little Kanna was startled awake by his movement and crawled up to check on him.
"I'm fine. Sorry for waking you."
"You're crying." Little Kanna's eyes gleamed with light even in the dark.
Karen realized—oh, tears, not blood.
So then, what happened just now really was merely a random dream, simply the conscious projection of his cluttered daytime thoughts playing out in his sleep.
"I'll get up and walk around."
"I'll come with you."
"Go back to sleep, really."
"Okay."
Little Kanna lay back down, not forgetting to add before closing her eyes, "If you're scared, Kanna can sing for you."
That was what Purr used to do when she first looked after Little Kanna. Back then, having just been brought out of the burrow into an unfamiliar environment, the little bone dragon had been very sensitive.
Karen smiled. "I will."
He walked out of the bedroom into his office.
In the office, Alfred was standing before Karen's desk sorting documents, preparing them overnight so Karen could work on them first thing in the morning.
"Young Master, why are you up so early?"
"Had a dream. My head aches a bit."
Alfred poured Karen a glass of ice water and asked, "Shall I prepare a late-night snack?"
"No need. Dawn will be here soon anyway."
"The head of Ukonga's project team has already touched base with me. Without holding anything back, they handed over the project roster and the proposal. I checked them, and everything matches what our prior discreet investigation turned up."
"He wouldn't play petty tricks on something like this."
"I will plant our own people in this project team to make it easier to control."
"Mhm, go ahead with that for now. For the specific operations, we'll wait for Kevin to return and hear its thoughts."
"I believe Kevin will certainly be thrilled, since it can resume its research once again. Oh, by the way, Young Master, an official dispatch came from the Whip-Wielder's office inquiring if you require a dedicated security team assigned to you."
"Decline it. There's no need."
Although the caliber of a security detail assigned by the Whip-Wielder would undoubtedly be beyond reproach, Karen truly had no need for one. First, having outsiders around made handling affairs inconvenient; second, their practical value was minimal.
Even though Karen had just suffered an unexpected mishap at Ponce Manor, that was because a temple elder had gone off the deep end; in a situation like that, no matter how high you raised the security level around you, it made no difference.
"Alfred, put aside what's on your plate. Come with me today."
"Yes, Young Master."
Alfred readily accepted. Today's itinerary was to attend the memorial service held at the station of the First Knight Order.
The great Young Master was about to grace his loyal knight order with an inspection;
Alfred felt he must not miss bearing witness to this moment.
Karen sat down in his chair and looked out the window. After a while, he stood up again and said to Alfred, who was still sorting documents:
"Come take a drive with me to clear my head."
"Yes, Young Master."
Alfred went to fetch the car in person—still that second-hand black Ponce. Karen took the passenger seat.
*Click!*
Before the engine started, Philomena climbed into the back seat.
Karen said, "Didn't see you when I stepped out."
"I was cultivating."
Translated, that meant she had been sleeping just now.
"Go back to cultivating, then."
"No." Philomena shook her head. "I have to protect you. I'll follow outside the car."
Karen said nothing.
Philomena got out and joined Andrew, who was in charge of outer security. Whenever Karen left the Discipline Department's boundary barrier, a security detail followed.
Alfred smiled. "Everyone is changing. Even the Felscher girl has learned to read the room."
"Heh."
Karen reclined his seat and lay back, looking out the window.
Alfred turned on the car radio, and a gentle, soothing country ballad began to play.
The car drove along at an easy pace while Karen listened in quiet tranquility.
As the sky grew light, Karen's eyes slowly shut.
He didn't sleep for long, but it was sound and restful.
Upon waking, Karen gently stretched his neck and mused, "I remember back when I was at my busiest, I could only catch up on sleep during car rides between stops."
Alfred said, "Prolonged desk work truly tends to build up psychological pressure. Besides, Young Master, you've accumulated far too many concerns in your mind lately."
"There are a lot of things, and they're thorny indeed, but we now have the capacity to handle them. It's not like when we first arrived in Wien."
"Yes, Young Master."
"We'll take care of the matters at hand one by one, and then... we're going home."
***
The car was swapped for a carriage, inside of which Karen was eating wontons handmade by Xili.
Before the teleportation array hall, the carriage came to a halt.
By rights, Karen's carriage was permitted to drive straight in.
Philomena opened the carriage door. Standing outside were Head Bishop Bern and Regional Chief Leon.
Standing behind Bern, Leon was visibly a generation junior.
Had Karen's Discipline Department not been situated in the Yorktown Region, the pairing of Leon and Bern would likely have dragged the balance of power between this region's Whip of Order and the Regional Administrative Office straight back to the old days.
Of course, Bern no longer harbored such ambitions anyway.
This memorial service personally initiated by the High Priest was of the highest specifications. Bigwigs from every branch and the two traditional leaders of each local region were all required to attend.
In addition, the Church of Order had invited representatives from its affiliated churches, partner churches, and churches with friendly relations to attend alongside them.
"Churches with friendly relations" was a loose umbrella term, given that even though both sides were actively waging war in the desert, it didn't stop them from attending your event under the guise of friendly churches.
That wasn't even the most bizarre part. Karen had seen in documents on his desk that while war raged at the front lines, ecclesiastical trade in the rear was booming as vigorously as ever.
For instance, key materials for the Order Legion's magic crystal cannons had to be procured from those very churches. Because the fighting burned through war materiel so heavily and stoked intense demand for raw supplies, bilateral trade volumes had actually hit record highs.
Stepping back, however, it was understandable. Aside from the Church of the Desert and the Desert Church—the two civil war factions that treated this war as an existential struggle—neither side's mainstream orthodox churches truly intended to exert maximum effort in an attempt to annihilate the other.
Yet their own High Priest seemed to have formed ideas recently; it was just a matter of when he would pull the bookmark.
After getting into the carriage, Bern pointed familiarly at the thermal container.
Alfred took out a bowl and spoon and served him a bowl of wontons.
Then Leon took the thermal container on his own initiative and scooped half a bowl for himself. He had already eaten, so he was merely joining in for company.
Bern took a sip of broth and said with a smile, "How nice. Bumming a ride off you saves so much hassle."
Karen said testily, "I thought you would send a bishop in your stead. I never expected you to go in person. Aren't you afraid of giving out on the road and dying out in the cold?"
Hearing Karen say this, Bern knew it meant everyone inside the carriage was one of their own.
"I've got until the end of the month. I'm counting down the days. Before my time comes, I won't die."
"Heh."
Bern: "By the way, when do you plan to visit the Church of Pamires?"
Alfred chimed in, "We have already secured the authorization from the Whip-Wielder as his representative and coordinated the visit with the Church of Pamires. Their Pontiff election ceremony is next week. By the way, Lord Derius should also be attending today."
"Mhm." Bern nodded. "Oh, almost forgot. Congratulations on becoming a temple elder's student."
Karen handed his empty bowl to Philomena, took a wet cloth from Little Kanna to wipe his mouth, and scolded:
"You're a man on death's door, so why do you still speak in that same tone?"
"Being obstinate to the grave is its own kind of bliss."
The carriage passed through four teleportations in total, arriving at the stop right before their destination.
Here, the ground was all black permafrost, and the sky hung dark and heavy, with neither sun nor stars in sight.
Ahead stood a colossal canyon—the final barrier of wards. Beyond it lay the garrison of the First Knight Order.
There was a heavy crowd here, packed with carriages and various mount beasts.
The hierarchy within the church was strict; generally upon reaching this point, most "lords" lost the privilege to ride in vehicles and had to proceed on foot.
More than just the walking, with so many "lords" clustered together, exchanging pleasantries and weighing social rank was utterly exhausting.
That was what Bern had meant earlier when he said hitching a ride in Karen's carriage saved hassle.
Karen's carriage could keep rolling forward. Along the roadside, a black castle structure came into view, every brick and tile exuding the passage of ages.
Bern explained, "That is an Inquisitorial Office. Many 'recruit knights' heading to report to the First Knight Order hold their funerals here."
Some could have funerals held back home, but those who lacked the means or saw no need for it were arranged to have theirs here.
Philomena asked, "Are there inquisitors inside as well?"
Bern shrugged and said:
"Of course. You could say this Inquisitorial Office is the highest-spec Inquisitorial Office in the entire Church of Order, and the inquisitors here are the most formidable in the church. In history, there were even temple elders who served here until they condensed a godhead fragment and were ushered away by the Gate of Order before stepping down."
Inside the carriage, several pairs of eyes fell upon Karen.
Karen said, "You're mistaken."
The highest-spec Inquisitorial Office and the most formidable inquisitor of the Church of Order were not here.
Bern asked, "How so?"
Karen said bluntly, "I'm not telling you now."
"I'm about to die. Are you planning to tell me after I'm dead?"
Karen looked out the carriage window, admiring the scenery.
Before the canyon, the carriage halted, and Karen stepped down.
Up ahead were several other parked carriages, as well as an Augie.
A monumental stele stood erect there.
The inscription was etched in black lettering, imbued with a powerful intent that proactively influenced one's mind, naturally translating the words in one's head into the language one was familiar with using.
Alfred murmured in admiration, "These strokes... how beautiful. A soul-stirring beauty."
Bern turned his head to look at Alfred. What kind of stroke aesthetic could one possibly glean from phonetic script?
Relying on the intuition of a veteran specialist of the church's shady underbelly, he suspected that the inscription Alfred saw was written in a different script than what everyone else was seeing.
Immediately after, Bern looked toward Karen, only to find Karen's expression calm and composed, merely saluting the monument in accordance with the traditional etiquette observed by visitors here.
On the stele was written:
["I volunteer to sleep here, fulfill my oath, and become the final line of defense for Order."]
Chapter 847