Chapter 101: The Lie of God!

Chapter 101: The Lie of a God!

【Order is this: what I decree, and what you must obey.】

As those words echoed within his mind,

Karen, seated upon the stone steps, silently closed his eyes.

"Master Karen?" Madame Jenny looked with a touch of perplexity at Karen, who but a moment ago had been laughing and talking with her; instinctively, she wished to lean closer for a better look, yet Eunice pulled her back.

Alfred had likewise noticed the sudden transformation in his young master. Though standing behind him, he sensed at that precise instant a profound shift in the master's temperament—as if, at this very moment, his master were seated within a grand cathedral, devoutly listening to the sermon of a high priest.

Alfred stepped down the stairs immediately, positioning himself in front of Karen.

Though Bogue remained ignorant of what had transpired, the moment he witnessed Alfred's movement, he took up a defensive stance directly behind Karen.

The two men, one in front and one behind, shielded Karen securely between them.

Seeing this, Eunice immediately drew her mother further away.

"What is the meaning of—"

"Hush," Eunice gestured for her mother to be silent.

Madame Jenny nodded at once, indicating her understanding.

In truth, owing to their shared interactions in the City of Ruoga and their subsequent journey back to Wien aboard the cruise ship, Madame Jenny had long since formed a fixed perception of Karen. Furthermore, since the young man before her was her prospective son-in-law, she had, for a considerable time, truly regarded him through the fond lens of a mother-in-law.

Consequently, upon returning home, she felt a profound sense of maladjustment when confronted with her father-in-law’s immense reverence toward Karen and the young man's skyrocketing status within the Allen family.

Though this daughter-in-law of the Allen family, born of ordinary stock, knew of the family’s peculiar nature and many secrets of this circle, she had never experienced them through deep, direct contact.

Yet she harbored no ill intent; it was merely that on occasion, when speaking of Karen or facing him directly, she deliberately chose to appear a fraction more "intimate" to secure a sense of vanity and satisfaction before her sisters-in-law.

In the distance, because Old Anderson had personally intervened to drive away the royal court chamberlain and his entourage, Mr. Bede found himself free at last and began to walk back.

He truly loathed managing the mundane affairs of the family, but with his father advanced in years, his eldest brother absent, and his second brother confined to a wheelchair, he had no choice but to step forward whenever grave and pressing matters arose.

However, the moment his gaze fell upon Karen sitting on the entrance steps, his footsteps instinctively ground to a halt.

"A divine revelation?"

For a very long time—nay, spanning across several epochs—the clerical officers of the churches serving the True Gods had looked down with immense disdain upon those family-based faith systems that only knew how to excavate the potential of their own bloodlines.

It was a chain of contempt, deeply rooted and unyielding.

Others might remain oblivious, but Bede knew precisely what Karen was experiencing.

How long had it been since he... purified?

Each church might possess different titles for the three stages of "Divine Servant, Divine Revelation, and Divine Shepherd," but in essence, they were identical.

The Divine Servant corresponded to "tuning" one's own physical vessel; the Divine Revelation meant receiving "guidance from a God"; and the Divine Shepherd represented obtaining "validation from a God."

Each stage appeared similar, yet each was vastly distinct; the most crucial link lay within the stage of "Divine Revelation."

What instructions the God bestowed upon you would fundamentally determine your weight and positioning within the God’s heart.

Though it was said that all living beings were equal beneath the True Gods, more often than not, it was merely a slogan. Perhaps the God truly believed so, for in the eyes of a God, all mortals were but ants—and His own believers were merely ants of a different color that happened to please Him.

Therefore, what the ants were actually doing or how their labor was divided mattered not; even the queen ant could not alter the fact that, in the eyes of a God, she remained an ant.

Yet the ants themselves did not think this way.

It was akin to the departmental classifications within a system: those engaged in scientific research and those tasked with sanitation were both serving the operation of the system, both generating light and heat, but were they truly the same?

So, Karen, what manner of divine revelation has the God of Order bestowed upon you?

Upon noticing that Karen had closed his eyes and that his entire form exuded an aura of pious devotion, a faint smile reappeared on Mr. Bede’s lips.

For he had once experienced a similar scene himself. After undergoing his own divine revelation, he had entered a realm of pure contemplation—a moment he still reminisced about with boundless longing to this day.

During that brief span of time, he had held a paintbrush, seated upon the green lawns of the estate; it lasted for less than half a minute, yet he had witnessed the "cyclical transition of the four seasons" within the manor.

When a God speaks to you, your perspective, your emotions, and your inner soul achieve a certain alignment with the divine. Brief though this time may be, it is enough to be savored for a lifetime.

For that is the most primal version of yourself, engaging in the purest communion with a God.

Alas, it was too fleeting—truly far too fleeting.

Bede had specifically inquired about matters regarding divine revelations, learning that his own half-minute duration was already considered exceptionally long; the vast majority of revelations typically did not exceed three seconds.

Yet it was precisely those three seconds that could sustain a clergyman's memory for an entire lifetime.

Furthermore, the "insights" and "harvests" gleaned during this period could chart the course for one's future; as for the exact extent of ideological refinement one could achieve, it depended entirely on the individual.

"Five seconds have passed."

Bede murmured to himself.

"Ten seconds have passed."

Highly exceptional.

"A half-minute has passed."

He has surpassed me.

"A full minute has passed."

Tsk, Dis’s grandson indeed.

...

Karen, in truth, knew what kind of state a divine revelation entailed, because Purr’s original plan was to usher him into the rank of Divine Shepherd in the swiftest and finest manner possible, and then mount an assault toward the rank of Inquisitor.

Yet even Purr had not anticipated it would come so swiftly.

Karen himself had not foreseen it either.

Moreover, at this very juncture, his mind was entirely devoid of distractions; he was simply and completely immersed within this perception.

His eyes were closed,

Yet his "vision" remained wide open.

Beside his ears, he could faintly discern the sound of water flowing rapidly—was the reservoir within his mind pouring outward?

Having continuously experimented with the "Spear of Punishment" for over a week, Karen was no stranger to this state of "flowing water." In fact, sensing the absence of that tearing agony of a struck forehead and a bleeding nose, his heart grew increasingly tranquil.

For he knew well that his reservoir was both wide and deep; if it were merely a normal flow, it could endure for a very, very long time.

At this moment, the "world" before Karen's eyes was rendered in shades of grey and white.

The first thing he beheld was himself, seated upon the stone steps, and from his own body, a thread of silk was unraveling and stretching outward.

The first to emerge was a grey silken thread; it began to connect far into the distance, and the first location it reached was the performance hall where the laborers were currently busily engaged.

"This job isn't too hard to manage."

"Aye, without those fellows wearing white wigs over their heads, the work is clearly a lot easier."

"I heard the master of the Allen family just stepped up and drove them away."

"Hahaha, good riddance! We can finish this job before sunset today, and tomorrow morning we won't have to wake before dawn to rush back to the Allen Estate. We can enjoy a beautiful, deep sleep."

"Exactly. Once it's finished today, we should be able to settle our wages. The Allen family's project payments have always been settled quickly, never dragged out."

"Let's work faster. Would the Allen Consortium care to withhold these meager wages of ours? What a joke."

A group of laborers were hard at work inside the performance hall, blissfully unaware of the gray thread extending from Cullen, winding itself around them one by one.

Having ensnared every last worker, the thread continued its outward journey.

Outside the hall, a band of footmen were busy rearranging potted plants.

"It is far more convenient to just transplant flowers from the estate, rather than hauling them in from outside."

"Indeed. The ones brought from outside never seem to meet the standards anyway. Shuttling back and forth is such a hassle."

"Those royal folks insisted on selecting specific flowers. Heh, why didn't they just take His Highness the Prince back to the palace to hold the funeral there?"

"It seems to be a noble honor, hosting a funeral for the royal family."

"I am no noble. I have no use for that kind of honor."

"True enough. But after these flowers are transplanted here, won't we have to move them right back once the funeral is over?"

"Probably not. But we will certainly have to repair the turf in those areas."

"Ah, that will be no small chore."

"How much longer do you intend to complain? As footmen of the Allen family, maintaining the beauty of the Allen estate is our sacred duty!"

"Yes, Mr. Butler."

"Yes, Mr. Butler."

The gray thread entwined these footmen before looping in a grand arc, vanishing into the depths of the castle.

"These silver pieces must be polished with the utmost care; they are to be used for the funeral."

"The dinner plates must be wiped clean as well; they too are needed for the funeral."

"Furthermore, not a single blind spot in the castle is to be overlooked. Her Majesty the Queen is very likely to lodge at the estate on the day of the funeral. We absolutely must not breach protocol, lest we disgrace the Master and bring shame upon the Allen name!"

Inside the castle, all the maids were toiling diligently, the gray thread weaving its way through each of their bodies.

At last,

The thread looped back, returning to the doorway and sinking deep into Cullen's form.

They—all these people—were acting according to my commands, preparing the funeral, getting ready to welcome Her Majesty the Queen for her stay.

It was I who gave them demands, I who gave them rules; what they were now obeying was the order I had established.

Cullen knit his brows. Subconsciously, he desperately wanted to declare this right, for the circuitous flow of the gray thread had already vindicated that very phrase:

[Order is that which I decree, and which you must obey.]

Yet, Cullen instinctively sensed something amiss. Perhaps this was an answer sheet that could appease a god, but it could not validate his own heart.

They were acting according to my demands, yes, but the laborers did so for wages, and the servants did so for the honor of being a part of the Allen estate.

Even without me, they would still be walking their path. My appearance had merely altered the direction of their current steps, but my presence might well be just another part of their daily routine.

All that pertained to a god was supreme, and the words spoken by a god were eternal truths equivalent to the alternating of the sun and the moon.

Yet, for certain individuals,

Dialectics

Was a mark practically etched into the vast sea of their spiritual consciousness.

Even if he

Was currently facing a god!

Just then, Cullen realized another thread had extended from within his body. It wound first around Alfred, who stood directly before him, before turning to ensnare Borge, then wrapping around Lady Jenny and Eunice, stretching out toward old Mr. Anderson in the distance, and then... entwining Mr. Bede.

Immediately following this,

The thread plunged into the castle once more, as if in pursuit, or perhaps heading toward an already destined and familiar place.

It coiled around Purr, around the Golden Retriever, around everyone within the castle walls.

In the very next instant,

The threads upon each ensnared soul began to shift in color, and each hue seemed to represent a different attribute of order, radiating outward with himself as the epicenter.

For a moment,

Cullen’s mind was utterly consumed by a kaleidoscope of colorful threads. That intricate palette, that peculiar significance, struck his mind directly like a massive spiritual shockwave.

"Boom!"

Cullen felt as though his head was being pierced straight through by a heavily rusted iron bar.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!"

Following the most violent crescendo, the surroundings plunged into an instantaneous silence, yet the expected conclusion failed to arrive.

Before his eyes lay absolute darkness; looking up, he could discern neither star nor moon.

He suddenly felt terribly cold. There was clearly no wind, yet that bone-chilling frost assailed him in wave after wave.

Cullen instinctively tried to wrap his arms around himself for warmth, only to discover to his horror that he had no arms at all!

He looked down and found that he seemed to have completely dissolved into this pitch-black void—truly dissolved, for he was "entirely bare."

Like a soul, a solitary soul.

Upon realizing this fact, Cullen felt even colder, completely stripped of any anchor of security, left bewildered, helpless, and filled with a despair that felt as though he had been abandoned by the world.

Cullen began to "walk" forward. He did not know if he was truly walking, for he had no feet either, and the darkness on either side could provide no "reference point" to suggest he was moving.

But to leave this place, he had to press forward by sheer instinct; he could not simply remain where he was and weep forever.

This was perhaps the core conviction that belonged uniquely to Cullen. It was nothing grand or lofty; it feared death, feared setbacks, and dreaded pressure. When confronted with various negative forces, it too would be pulled and kneaded.

It would weep, too,

But even as it wept, it would doggedly continue to move forward.

This had nothing to do with any grand conviction, nor did it align with any ideal, nor did it seek to prove anything.

The world could abandon you, but you, at the very least, had to be responsible for yourself.

Perhaps the word "responsible" was too heavy; in short, it had to be something his own heart... could live with.

Gradually,

Cullen perceived a new "reference point," because he found himself growing colder and colder. This progression of perception was just like a person drawing closer to a bonfire to obtain warmth; at the very least, he was indeed moving forward.

...

"Is it still not over?" Mr. Bede had completely lost control of his facial expressions, his countenance etched with stark astonishment.

Because the rest of the family were either ordinary people or adhered to the family's orthodox system of faith, they lacked a clear understanding of such a situation.

But he knew. He had lived through it, and precisely because he had lived through it, he understood just how precious this "process" truly was.

At this moment,

A scene flickered into Bede's mind. In it, an old man sat quietly, while he himself stood before the elder with profound reverence.

"I dislike the Church of the Wall, not because of the God of Order, nor because of the doctrines of the Wall itself.

"Rather, it is because I believe you followers of the Wall misunderstood your own doctrines long ago. You pursue relinquishment with a near-frenzied zeal, hoping to extract the beauty of sacrificing oneself for art from that very abandonment."

"Can the doctrine ever be wrong?" Bede asked with deep reverence.

"Can the doctrine never be wrong?"

"The doctrine is the will of God."

"Can God never be wrong?"

"Forgive me, but I cannot understand you."

"I really wish to know if you would feel pain."

"Pain..."

"The things you wish to cast aside the most are often the very things you truly care about. Some bonds are not merely confined to a surname or the awakening of a bloodline."

"I... I do not know."

"I permit your daughter to become the wife of my grandson."

"Thank you for your mercy and your bounty."

"I am very proud."

"If you are willing, I would like to listen."

"The last thing an elder wishes is for the younger generation to walk the wrong path they themselves once trod."

"Can your current self be considered as having walked the wrong path?"

"What if it was wrong from the very beginning?"

"This..."

"Then the further you walk, the more wrong you become."

"I am dull, for I do not understand."

"Perhaps, in the future, you will understand."

"Understand... what?"

"You will understand,

that God,

in truth, can also deceive you."

...

The golden retriever carried Pur down the stairs and arrived at the doorway.

At this moment, Alfred and Borg still stood one behind the other, protecting Karen.

"Woof~" the golden retriever barked softly.

"So soon... a divine revelation already?" Pur’s feline eyes widened. "It really is exactly the same as Dis back then."

In Pur’s established perception, Dis was a unique anomaly. Perhaps future geniuses could be compared to Dis, but those geniuses could never truly be like him.

Because Dis was the one and only;

Yet the scene before her forced Pur to admit that Karen, this grandson of Dis, was replicating Dis’s path.

"His foundation is incredibly profound, profound enough to drive the vast majority of God's servants in this world to despair. Therefore, when he receives a divine revelation, he will gain a much greater inspiration.

How I look forward to it, I truly look forward to seeing what kind of divine revelation the God of Order will grant Karen."

"Woof~" the golden retriever barked softly once more.

"Hmm?" Pur leapt off the golden retriever’s back, pacing slowly until she reached the front and side of Karen. In the process of moving, she caught sight of the clear expression of "consternation" on Mr. Bede’s face;

Yes, consternation.

And by the time Pur saw Karen's expression, she too froze;

For on Karen’s face, there was none of the piety and bliss of one listening to a divine revelation. Instead, his brow was tightly furrowed and he bit his lip, as though enduring some kind of pain, or locked in some sort of nightmare.

Was this... still receiving a divine revelation?

...

Cold, so cold.

Although Karen possessed no limbs in this vast darkness, out of long habit, he still retained that perception.

His legs and feet had frozen stiff, utterly incapable of bending;

His arms could no longer swing, fixed rigidly to his sides;

His skin began to split open, and the blood within seemed to have turned to ice;

His mind had fallen into a muddled stupor, his brain matter seemingly frozen over as well.

Even his soul had been frozen into an ice sculpture, untouched and untouchable, bound to disintegrate at the slightest contact.

At a time like this,

any warmth,

even a single match, would be enough to drive a person into a frenzy, willing to pay any price to grasp it, or even to swallow the flame whole.

In his hazy consciousness,

Karen felt a single sentence begin to surface repeatedly in his mind:

[Order is: that which I decree, and that which you must obey.]

[Order is: that which I decree, and that which you must obey.]

[Order is: that which I decree, and that which you must obey.]

As long as he silently recited it,

as long as he followed it,

as long as he believed in it,

then he would end all suffering and return to warmth.

Beneath his feet lay a frozen kingdom; ahead lay a fallen hell.

Only by chanting His name, only by praising His greatness, could true salvation be attained.

Yet Karen did not do so; he stubbornly pressed onward.

He craved warmth, craved fire, but the more that sentence surged through his mind, the more indifferent his heart became.

It was a bizarre sensation,

as if you were drowning,

and someone on the shore offered a bamboo pole to save you,

yet instead of feeling grateful, your hatred for them grew deeper and deeper!

It defied logic, yet it was truly happening.

At this moment,

Cullen heard the sound of flowing water, gradually growing fainter; this state of being was coming to an end.

Once the water ran dry, he would sink into yet another coma, escaping the torture of the present moment.

It was a deliverance, a self-forgiveness achieved without the slightest burden on his conscience.

It was not for a lack of perseverance, even if he had no inkling of what he was actually holding out for, nor was it for a lack of effort, though he could not even fathom whether the direction of his endeavors was right or wrong;

Yet, at long last, he could lie down, and let it end.

And yet,

A surge of fury welled up within Cullen's heart.

By what right should it end like this? Why should it end like this?

Cullen resumed his forward march, ignorant of what lay ahead, knowing that perhaps even the concept of a forward path did not exist;

Still, he had to press on, determined to take as many steps as possible while his own waters had not completely run dry!

Then,

His grandfather's voice echoed in the depths of Cullen's heart:

"Because you, Cullen, do not believe in gods."

Cullen smiled,

Finally, he understood why.

Because he did not believe in gods, he could accept divine purification, and he could study mystical arts, but when made to sit and listen to the teachings of the gods, his natural lack of faith led him to doubt whatever was said.

If the words of the gods are the alternating rhythm of night and day, then I shall... walk from the night into the day, just to verify it for myself!

Because, I am afraid you will lie to me!

At long last,

The water ran dry,

Cullen perceived that he truly could no longer "walk," yet he forced himself to take one more step forward—or rather, he flung his body outward, determined to fulfill it even if he only moved another half-meter, half-decimeter, or even a half-centimeter!

Thud!

Cullen collapsed to the ground,

The icy chill vanished in an instant, and his surroundings shifted from pitch-black to a visible ashen white.

Immediately after,

Cullen watched in astonishment as his own hands managed to move his torso; they had actually been there all along, truly there.

Then, Cullen turned his head to look behind him, discovering that the path of his journey was a canyon flanked by ash-white walls, and he had previously been advancing along a groove within this very canyon.

I have hands and I have feet, I can walk on my own, I am not lost, nor do I need to despair;

The protracted darkness merely obscured the road that already existed here, and I have no need for guidance;

So, was he drowning?

No, he was not.

On the contrary, it was the man holding the bamboo pole who was struggling in the water;

The bamboo pole he extended was not meant to save you,

But to drag you down into the water along with him.

"Order is: that which I decree, and which you must obey."

This voice echoed in his mind once more;

Cullen smiled,

He smiled with profound joy,

And as the surrounding scene rapidly collapsed, just as his consciousness was about to return,

He cried out at the top of his lungs:

"Before you decreed it, Order already existed!"