"Work overtime."
It was a vile phrase, powerful enough to provoke a visceral, instinctive discomfort in most people who heard it.
Especially in their current circumstance, where even death was not an end, and upon "awakening," one still had to confront work that could never possibly be finished.
Yet the moment Bern heard that phrase, his entire body relaxed.
The emotions he had previously been unable to contain finally found a proper outlet. He gripped the pen in his hand tightly and nodded with a solemn expression.
To Bern, death was not something to be feared. His sole regret had been that he could no longer contribute to Order.
Now, that regret was remedied.
Bern and Pavaro were truly of the same kind.
In the eyes of outsiders, their choices and perseverance were often incomprehensible—viewed as absurd, laughable, and foolish.
Yet this world never lacked buzzing flies, always using brains no larger than the head of a pin to deconstruct everything beautiful and noble, convinced that everything in this world was filthy, foul, and false.
Pitiably, they could only spend their lives circling rot, drowning in selfishness, narrow-mindedness, and damp gloom.
Meanwhile, those they mocked had long since glimpsed the true vistas of the spiritual realm—sights those flies could never attain in a lifetime.
There was also Theisen, who, after failing in the power struggle, chose on the brink of death to see through this peaceful curtain call with the High Priest.
And Piro and that cohort of retired elders, who developed overloaded arrays just to use them twice—once in life and once in death. Or the retired knight officers, terrified of growing too old and suffering severe physical decline, who chose an early end to their lives just so they could offer a bit more strength when awakened in the future.
And the young priests on the battlefield who, knowing full well they were not qualified, still shouted, "See you in the First Knight Order!" before carrying explosive scrolls into desperate suicide charges.
Even more, the departed forebears within the First Knight Order who, after slumbering through untold ages of death, remained "always prepared."
Karen's gaze drifted slightly. This "awakening" was different from previous ones.
Perhaps it was due to realm, perhaps due to the subject of the awakening, perhaps due to timing, or perhaps due to his own depth of understanding...
Karen had a feeling that while he had "awakened" Bern, the thousands upon thousands of Order priests like Bern—both those he had met and those he hadn't—had also "awakened" him.
His awakening of another took only a fleeting moment, while their awakening of him was the qualitative leap born of long-accumulated quantitative change.
The epiphany he had experienced earlier on the sofa had not been interrupted by Bern's death. Instead, because he had awakened Bern, it yielded an even more sustained effect.
*God's Shepherd...*
*Where should I place "God"?*
Bern slowly rose to his feet. *Phew,* he had finally escaped that uncomfortable chair.
His body was already weak and trembling. Just as he instinctively started to drop to his knees in prostration, the corner of his eye caught the copy of the *Light of Order* that sat on every Order priest's desk.
He propped both elbows on the desktop.
His descending body came to an abrupt, forced halt.
Like a paraplegic relying on the strength of his arms, he struggled desperately to maintain his standing posture.
There were countless reasons for him to kneel.
Nothing could thrill a believer of Order more than seeing "God" at the moment of death. It was an acknowledgment, the highest honor.
He had given up everything, plunging himself into the shadows. He did not care whether others understood him, but in the end, he was human—a living, breathing person.
On certain late nights, he too would look up at the moon in the dark sky and pray silently in his heart: *Everything I have done is under My Lord's watchful gaze.*
God was his spiritual pillar.
He wanted to kneel and worship, wanted to kiss the surface of God's boots, wanted to pour out his feelings to God.
Yet God had taught him.
God had said:
*Under Order, all are equal.*
He felt that he should stand, that he should not kneel.
Kneeling would not be a humiliation to himself, but a defilement of "God."
Because doing so would group the God of Order they worshipped with those inferior deities.
That was something Bern could not accept. The God of Order was the sole God!
Not merely the sole God within the Church of Order, but the sole God in this world. It was only because the time was not ripe and the church feared chain-reaction upheavals; otherwise, the fanatical believers of Order would have long since recorded the main gods of other churches in their ecclesiastical histories as the "False God of Light," the "False God of Life," and the "False God of Night."
Yet this perseverance was agonizing. Bern was gradually losing his ability to hold on; the temptation to kneel was simply too powerful to resist.
Karen's drifting gaze returned to Bern.
He walked around the desk, stepped up beside Bern, and extended a hand to support his arm. The moment they made contact, Karen felt the tremors running through Bern's body.
"You've just been revived and still need to adjust. Sit down first."
Bern sank back into the chair. He looked at Karen and asked, "How should I face... You?"
"Just as you did before."
"H-how could that be possible..."
"You and I are fellow travelers walking this path with a shared goal and the same aspiration."
"I... I... I don't dare..."
"You are Bern. Your gaze once placed immense pressure on me, making even my heart tremble with dread."
"I... I have sinned..."
"You will adjust soon enough, I believe."
"T-truly?"
"Because you did not kneel. I was distracted just now, but I am glad that when I came to my senses, I did not see you prostrating before me. Otherwise, I would have been deeply disappointed."
"A dream... can it truly be real? Am I dreaming right now?"
"Our goal was always a dream to begin with. We are a gathering of misunderstood... idealists living within a dream."
Bern reached out, picked up the *Light of Order*, and pulled the book to his chest.
Karen chuckled and asked, "What, do you want me to sign that book for you?"
"Heh... heh..."
An Order conspirator who had weathered countless storms in the shadows sounded impossibly stiff even when chiming in with such banter.
Yet given his current situation, hardly anyone could mock his bashfulness and stage fright.
Bern placed his palm on the cover of the *Light of Order*. His breathing finally steadied. When he looked back at Karen, nothing remained in his eyes except pure piety. When he spoke next, his voice no longer stammered.
He began, "I, Bern Lansaqi, swore an oath to the *Light of Order* upon entering the faith: My entire life shall remain faithful to Order, dedicating everything without regret, solely so that the light of Order may shine ever brighter.
"I request... My Lord's... review."
Karen gave a solemn nod and said, "I have seen it."
Bern closed his eyes, his lips trembling slightly. "W-we are blessed. You... have never abandoned us. You... have always been by our side."
Karen shook his head and said, "That is not so. I have seen you, and I have seen many others, but there are far more like you whom I cannot see.
"They may still be alive right now, suffering through hardship. Even more have likely died long ago. I was not able to see them, and they were not able to see me."
"No, You have seen them!" Bern opened his eyes and spoke with absolute conviction. "You have always existed in their hearts. Your acknowledgment of me is Your acknowledgment of thousands upon thousands of devout believers of Order. Since You can see me, You can see them as well.
"I am by no means an exception, nor was I merely fortunate.
"Lord,
"I believe that in their moments of despair, in their pain, on the verge of death, they too must have seen You appear before their eyes!"
Karen fell silent.
He lowered his head as if lost in thought, yet for a moment, he could not gather his reflections.
Just as he was about to speak, thin, elongated threads suddenly appeared in his vision. Looking closer, they were individual Chains of Order, gathered in a density beyond imagination.
At first, they clustered together like a ball of yarn.
Gradually, they spread outward, extending nearby, extending into the distance, and even reaching back into the untouchable past.
Pious murmurs seemed to echo in his mind, remarkably reminiscent of his previous experience at the First Knight Order's garrison.
*"Praise My Lord."*
*"Lord, Your radiance shall forever illuminate my path."*
*"Lord, I see You."*
*"..."*
Deep within his soul, inside the swamp, the Hunger Addiction Sculpture bound by the Chains of Order—secured by the return of the Blade of Sighs—slowly raised its head.
The chains suppressing it began to tremble.
This was not resistance from the Hunger Addiction Sculpture. Rather, the stronger Karen grew, the stronger it inevitably became alongside him.
In immense agony, Karen pressed a hand against his forehead. Enduring the overwhelming discomfort, he replied to Bern, "Yes, you are right. I have seen it."
Those whispered murmurs were largely prayers spoken on the threshold of death. Those countless currents of conviction were squeezing his consciousness.
In his current state, he simply could not bear such a terrifying load.
"Ah..."
"My Lord, what is happening to You...?"
"Bern, Alfred will explain everything else to you. Right now, I am unwell. I need some quiet alone. Do not let anyone disturb me."
"I obey the divine decree."
The agony on Karen's face restored Bern's ability to act.
At this moment, perhaps even Bern himself could not distinguish whether he was concerned for "God" or for Karen, the young junior.
Most likely, the latter carried more weight.
For he had not even stopped to ponder why the supreme God would feel pain.
Stepping out of his office, Bern closed the door and stood before it, squaring his chest.
A sacred sense of responsibility swelled in his heart.
For he was guarding his Lord, guarding his God.
Inside the office, Karen staggered over to the sofa and sat down.
With his head still lowered, he pressed hard against his forehead. The swelling pressure bearing down on his consciousness subjected him to unimaginable torment.
Perhaps the only way to alleviate this pain right now was to personally unravel the chains that the Blade of Sighs had wound around the Hunger Addiction Sculpture, letting it share the burden for him.
The next instant,
Karen appeared within the swamp of his soul.
The Hunger Addiction Sculpture did not seem surprised by this.
Karen raised his hand.
Yet just as the chains arranged by the Blade of Sighs were about to be recalled at his command, Karen lowered his arm again.
"Why should I beg you?"
Karen looked at the Hunger Addiction Sculpture, which showed no reaction whatsoever.
"I am in pain. Yes, immense, unbearable pain..."
Karen slowly opened his arms.
"Yet I do not believe these dying prayers and wills could truly kill me, because like me, they are all devout believers of Order."
Hearing these words, the Hunger Addiction Sculpture slowly opened its eyes. Its gaze held no emotion at all, coldly fixing upon Karen.
"At worst, it's just like before—burning me in a manner countless times more intense than the Fire of Light. As long as it doesn't kill me, what is there to fear? Wouldn't you say so?"
Karen let go of all resistance, no longer repelling it. He even began to actively embrace those prayers.
The level of agony steadily escalated.
Karen's consciousness gradually descended into confusion; in fact, he was already lost.
His consciousness was covered by the muck of the swamp, then merged into the mire.
He seemed to vanish just like that.
This sight left even the Scythe of War—which had been stubbornly struggling in the swamp, refusing to bow its head—feeling at a total loss.
Yet even though Karen had vanished, the chains binding the Hunger Addiction Sculpture remained intact. The sculpture had not fully taken over this body, either.
*Gurgle... gurgle... gurgle...*
Bubbles churned up from within the swamp.
Gradually, a mound began to swell within the mire. Once it assumed a human shape, the mud began to slough away.
Within the dying prayers of the believers, Karen had lost himself; yet it was those very prayers and convictions that brought him back.
Karen slowly opened his eyes. The pain was still present, unmitigated and continuing to escalate.
Yet a smile surfaced on his face.
A harsh grinding sound emerged from the Hunger Addiction Sculpture, as though it were enduring immense pressure.
Yes, the pain had not vanished; it had merely transferred.
From Karen, it transferred onto the Hunger Addiction Sculpture.
This transference grew progressively deeper.
To the point where, alongside the smile on Karen's face, a hint of ease and leisure appeared.
This was the first time he had faced the hunger addiction in such a manner.
Karen spoke: "So you are not invincible after all. The God of Order didn't actually lose to you."
Karen looked at the surrounding swamp.
Then,
He opened his eyes, and his consciousness returned to reality. He was sitting on the sofa in the Head Bishop's office.
He raised his head,
A look of reminiscence in his eyes.
"Hey, predecessor, just what kind of existence were you?"
Karen leaned back, resting his spine fully against the back of the sofa, his eyes fixed on the office ceiling.
It was a wondrous feeling.
You had been searching bitterly, groping forward in bewilderment, not knowing where the road ended, much less whether your efforts would yield any harvest.
Yet when you truly reached a certain vantage, you saw a monument, the inscription left behind by the one who came before.
She had been here.
This proved that your path was correct. You had received affirmation.
Just as Bern had seen him at the moment of death;
And he, too, had seen her.
Karen lifted his hand, wanting to write something down to record his current insights.
Though he held no pen and had no paper before him, it did not matter.
If he wished to write, he wrote.
***
"Hm?"
Alfred, who was organizing dossiers in Karen's office, suddenly caught a stir from the adjoining rest chamber. He pushed open the door and saw that the black notebook, originally kept inside a wooden box on the desk, had floated out.
Though the windows were tightly shut, a breeze seemed to blow through, turning the notebook to a blank page.
The cap slipped off, and the fountain pen hovered in midair, beginning to write golden characters upon the page.
Alfred took a deep breath. Eager as he was, he deliberately suppressed his footsteps, terrified of breaking the atmosphere as he slowly approached the desk.
It had been a while since the young master had written anything in the notebook, leaving Alfred, who had long revered it as his spiritual spring, thoroughly starved for words.
What appeared on the notebook was the special script understood only by himself and the young master.
At first glance, Alfred sensed that this must be the young master's current inner monologue—a bit more conversational than formal.
Still, that did not matter; the subsequent fine-tuning was his primary duty as Alfred.
*"The Church of Order possessed the mightiest overlord deity of the late preceding era. Her rise carved out the fertile ground for Order to survive and flourish.*
*"Some of her actions I can understand, while others I cannot yet. Of the parts I cannot understand, perhaps I will grasp some in the future, but there are certainly some I will never agree with.*
*"For instance... who knows, maybe she liked eating Wien bean paste?"*
"Wien bean paste?!"
Alfred's jaw dropped. He could not comprehend why the phrase "Wien bean paste" would appear in such a solemn, sacred record!
*Heavens!*
*Gods above!*
*Young master! How could you do this!?!*
Alfred clutched his hair with both hands. Usually meticulous about maintaining his composure, he was on the verge of going mad.
For he could not fathom how believers thousands or tens of thousands of years or several eras from now would react when reading the *New Light of Order* and encountering "Wien bean paste."
By then, the nation of Wien certainly would not exist anymore. Not even the place name would remain—no, perhaps even this island would have sunk into the sea.
Yet "Wien bean paste" would endure forever.
Generations of theological scholars would dedicate their entire lives to researching and debating just what miraculous thing "Wien bean paste" actually was!
"Ah, no, no, I cannot sit by and let this happen! I must revise it! I must edit it out!"
The golden script on the notebook continued to manifest:
*"What cannot be denied is that her achievements have long since smoothed over all roughness and creases. That silhouette turning her back on the era remains her most profound manifestation of 'Order.'*
*"We often treat 'God' as the supreme interpretation of faith, believing that God created everything. Yet I believe that what truly created and drove the development of Order's laws to this day were the countless devout, selfless believers of Order across generations.*
*"Their faith converged into a part of divinity, much like the Church of Order's 'god-making experiment' in York City.*
*"The first attempt failed because the fabricated god simply could not exist, leaving behind only a terrifying contamination on the verge of erupting.*
*"The second time, I will not allow it even the possibility of beginning. My reason for stopping it stems from the creed I have always maintained: I stubbornly and firmly believe that as believers of Order, we should not stand idly by and watch a presence like 'God'—one that disrupts the rules of Order—descend anew.*
*"That was my earlier thought. I didn't actually understand why it couldn't be done; I only knew... it shouldn't be done.*
*"Now, I feel I understand a portion of it. It may still be shallow, perhaps even mistaken, but it is deeper than before.*
*"Divine contamination seems to be an absolute law; gods are the greatest sources of contamination in the world.*
*"Luoya's Laks copper coin is known as the 'source of all evil.'*
*"Yet in truth, Luoya is an exceedingly pure existence; her trait and ability simply draw out and stir up the desires of other things.*
*"So, could it be that divinity is not contamination at all, but the purest existence in the world?*
*"Could the outbreak of divine contamination not be an issue of divinity itself, but an issue of the vessels hosting it?*
*"Or perhaps,*
*"The definition of 'contamination' has always been delineated from 'my' perspective, whereas from the perspective of 'laws' and 'truth,' from the perspective of this world—*
*"What we call 'contamination' is actually a form of 'purification'?*
*"Thus, the god-making plan could never possibly succeed.*
*"Creating divinity is not difficult, but creating a host vessel capable of matching it is impossible. Divinity without a vessel naturally becomes the terrifying 'contamination' in our eyes, giving rise to natural disasters.*
*"In the previous era, the handling of fallen deities' remains was an extremely sensitive matter, even giving rise to a branch of deities dedicated specifically to the disposal of divine corpses.*
*"In the previous era, the God-Burial Grounds where turmoil broke out—ultimately suppressed personally by the God of Order, then sealed and banished by Raniedal...*
*"Could that be understood as the remnant divinity losing its vessel after the 'god' perished, causing it to undergo a transformation?*
*"A torch, if held by a person, can illuminate the dark, provide warmth, roast food, and smelt ore...*
*"Yet once discarded, it can also burn down houses, consume forests, and annihilate man and beast alike.*
*"Even if humanity does not deliberately kindle a fire, fire will still emerge and spread through various natural ways; they can even draw toward one another, ignite one another, and link into a single blaze.*
*"In this era, gods do not walk the earth because the God of Order barred them outside it. But why can not even a new god be born?*
*"Because what the God of Order shut out was not merely those deities who once existed; she forcibly extracted the very element of 'fire' that should have existed in this world.*
*"The church can rely on its own power to manufacture 'divinity,' but it is unsustainable, destined never to burn steadily, because the necessary conditions for its stable existence no longer exist in this world.*
*"However, I have it!"*
Reading up to this point, Alfred held his breath!
The young master said he had it. What did that mean? What could that mean?!
The answer was poised on the tip of his tongue, yet Alfred dared not speak it aloud. Almost greedily, he watched the notebook, waiting for the writing to continue.
The pen kept moving.
Sitting in the Head Bishop's office, Karen continued to speak. With each word he uttered, a word appeared on the notebook, in complete synchronization:
*"The hunger addiction is a curse, the most terrifying curse in the world. It torments me, seeks to devour me, seeks to replace me, and is almost insurmountable...*
*"Yet that is the hunger addiction viewed from my own perspective.*
*"My perspective may be one-sided—no, it is inevitably one-sided.*
*"From the perspective of the hunger addiction, is it the purest and cleanest thing, while I am the filthy scum?*
*"And from the perspective of the God of Order,*
*"The thing she cast across the taboos of time was not, in her eyes, a trouble, a burden, or an encumbrance—*
*"Rather,*
*"In this era devoid of gods,*
*"It is the only spark*
*"Capable of continuously burning!"*
Alfred's heart nearly skipped a beat. He clutched his chest tightly, his eyes bloodshot with intensity:
*My young master...*
*In this era,*
*Theoretically speaking,*
*Is the only person who can become a new god!*
*No, there is still a paradox here.* Alfred quickly noticed it, just as the fountain pen began drawing a series of wavy lines on the paper, indicating that the young master was contemplating the exact same thing.
That was—theoretically speaking was truly *only* theoretical.
Because the stronger the young master grew, the weaker the God of Order would become.
Therefore, the most perfect theoretical condition would be:
The God of Order had to hold out until his young master achieved godhood. But the moment his young master ascended, the God of Order would inevitably collapse, the barrier would instantly vanish, and the gods would return!
If the God of Order failed to hold out until that point, the gods might return before the young master could even attain godhood.
And even if the God of Order successfully held out until the young master became a god, completing the transition, then in the most optimal scenario, his young master would merely become the very first god of this era at that single instant.
This meant his young master would have no head start; the best possible starting point was merely standing on the same starting line as everyone else.
At that moment, new characters began appearing on the notebook. Alfred noticed that his young master seemed to have shifted his train of thought. He was no longer fretting over "advantages" and "disadvantages," nor was he anxious or wavering over the probabilities of "success" and "failure."
Instead, the tone turned stirring and impassioned.
Alfred could not help but marvel from the bottom of his heart: *The young master is indeed the young master. His vision is something I could never imagine. To follow in his footsteps throughout this life is already my greatest honor.*
The notebook read:
*"Thus, the Eternal Spear said that when the God of Order can no longer hold the line, not only will the deities of the previous era return, but even those ancient overlords from eras long before will also come back.*
*"What Order confronts is not merely those ancient deities, but this very world.*
*"Perhaps,*
*"This world was indeed meant to be like this, but that is no excuse for us to let it remain so.*
*"I was previously tormented by an almost impossible 'success.' Though I would still face the calamity of the gods' return, my pessimistic melancholy could never be dispelled.*
*"I was wrong.*
*"I was narrow-minded as well.*
*"'Success' and 'failure' should not be defined by me in such a simplistic, sweeping manner.*
*"Because just moments ago,*
*"Ba'ansi*
*"Already called out to me:*
*"'Hey, we've already succeeded, haven't we?!'"*
Alfred's brow furrowed tightly, and he began clutching his hair once more:
*Who the hell is Ba'ansi?!*
*Why would a name I have never heard before appear right here, in such a crucial passage, in such a vital section?!*
*Where did the young master meet this person? Why do I know nothing about him? And how could this person grant the young master such profound affirmation—which pioneer or ancient master of the church is he?!*
*If even I cannot comprehend who this person is, then those future theologians, even if they research for ten or a hundred lifetimes, will never figure it out!*
"Oh, heavens... you scholars of future generations, you might as well go study 'Wien bean paste' instead. That seems far easier."
***
At that very moment, an ordinary taxi driver in York City had just delivered a passenger to his destination.
"That will be fifty riels, sir."
"Hmph, you took the long way around."
"No, sir! I swear on my mother's bean paste jar, absolutely not!"
"Then your mother's jar must be cracked!"
"Sir, you can't say that! Do you know what a bean paste jar means to us folk from Wien?!"
"Listen here. Don't think you can pull one over on me just because of my accent. I may not be from Wien, but I've lived in York City for ten years. I'm no tourist or business traveler!"
"Uh..." Ba'ansi was left speechless, having indeed taken the scenic route thinking the man was an out-of-towner.
"Here's thirty riels. It normally only costs me twenty-five riels to take a cab back, but I'm giving you five extra so you can buy some glue to fix your mother's cracked paste jar!"
The passenger got out in a huff and slammed the car door shut.
Ba'ansi didn't take offense. Instead, he waved cheerfully.
"Hey, sir, thank you for your generosity!"
He lit a cigarette and prepared to start the car again. Just then, he gave a puzzled sniff.
"Huh? What is that smell? It smells so good."
Right at that instant, at the intersection ahead, an out-of-control heavy freight truck skidded past, crashing through the retaining wall. Its cargo of steel rebar spilled across the entire road with a deafening crash.
The cigarette slipped from Ba'ansi's fingers, his body trembling uncontrollably. If he hadn't hesitated just now and had driven straight out, wouldn't he have been crushed into paste by that truck and pierced into mincemeat by those steel rods?!
"Thank the Lord for His protection, thank the Lord for His protection..."
He had completely forgotten that when he dropped off his previous two passengers, he had muttered behind their backs after they got out, annoyed by their peculiar, cryptic talk:
"A pair of charlatans!"
With Karen and Bern's abilities, they had certainly heard it.
Yet neither of them had been angry.
The God of Order had barred the gods from interfering with this world, and the Church of Order had shielded human civilization from the church's domination.
Only because of this could an ordinary taxi driver live without ever encountering aberrant demons or dealing with religious authorities.
Only because of this did he and his family never have to prostrate in the dirt during cataclysms wrought by deities, praying and pleading for mercy and salvation from the gods who caused them.
Nor did they have to bind their entire lives in sacrifice to the church, reduced to minuscule cogs within the war machines on church battlefields.
Humanity had wars, massacres, betrayals, and all manner of darkness and countless filth.
Yet in the mythological narratives of every religion prior to this era, there was not a single chapter that truly belonged to "man."
"A pair of charlatans" was not a mockery, much less an insult.
In the ears of Order's believers, it was praise.
***
The notebook continued:
*"Yes, we have no reason to fear failure, nor should we succumb to gloom and pessimism. For we have already succeeded.*
*"No matter what the future holds,*
*"No matter what happens one era, two eras, ten, or even a hundred eras from now,*
*"At the very least,*
*"We can hold our heads high,*
*"And proudly proclaim:*
*"This world was once changed because of us.*
*"Look,*
*"We were once here."*
Chapter 858