Chapter 137: It Has Begun!

Chapter 137: It Begins!

"Get in."

"Right away."

Young John slipped into the passenger seat.

Karen opened the rear door and seated himself beside Mr. Pavaro.

"What of the butler?" Mr. Pavaro inquired.

"Dead. Poisoned."

Seated upfront, Young John was quick to defend himself:

"It wasn't me. He tried to poison me."

"Did he 'awaken'?" Pavaro asked.

"No," Karen replied, shaking his head.

"You failed to pry the location from him?"

"There is no need to trouble ourselves; he knows it." Karen pointed toward Young John. "Right where he was defiled."

"Are we going now?" Pavaro asked.

"No, tomorrow.

Since we are to venture into the serpent's den, our first order of business must be to draw the snake out. At the very least, we must wound it. Otherwise, even if we find the place, we shall hardly stand a chance."

"You intend to lure them to the remnants of the Light?"

"I already have; the dead do more than keep secrets—the words spoken by the deceased are often far more readily believed."

The lives Alfred had claimed earlier in the executive offices of the textile mill, and the words Karen had spoken at the Taddel residence to Young John—which were actually meant for the dying butler;

All of these, once they were "awakened," would be delivered into the hands of the Church of Order in the guise of clues and evidence.

Pavaro smiled faintly. "Where others kill to silence tongues, you kill to deliver a message."

Pausing a moment,

Pavaro continued, "Still, it remains somewhat glaring."

"It is," Karen agreed with a nod. "But whether it is glaring or direct matters little, so long as it proves effective."

"True enough."

"The remnants of the Light are a thorn in the side of the entire ecclesiastical world. The Church of Order currently commands a status that rivals the Church of Light from the previous epoch, making them naturally most vigilant and wary of any such remnants."

"Indeed."

"Of course, the primary factor is that this particular faction of Light remnants can actually fight. If they were a mere handful of small fry, it would yield no effect. Furthermore, they are not only capable combatants, but exceedingly reckless."

Karen thought of Elder Dock, who was practically a short-tempered brute. These remnants of the Light were fractured into several factions forcibly huddled together, three of which were currently known;

The faction under Miss Bertha acting as the Divine Envoy, Elder Dock's faction, and another holding secret evangelical gatherings right across from the clinic.

In name, they all deferred to Her Excellency the Divine Envoy, but in private, each acted willfully according to their own habits and rhythm.

Even if the agents of the Church of Order proceeded with caution and sent men to feel them out first, Elder Dock and his lot would simply meet them with the harshest, most ruthless measures, just as they had dealt with the Raphael family previously.

"There is another point: from our own perspective, there is no reason for the remnants of the Light to entangle themselves in this matter; their involvement seems entirely absurd.

But from the perspective of those who sought to murder you, it is quite different. They have skipped that 'absurd stage' entirely and moved straight to this conclusion: the remnants of the Light are indeed investigating this matter, and investigating it deeply.

When you were an Inquisitor, the reports you submitted were intercepted, and you yourself were suppressed, imprisoned, and ultimately targeted for 'execution' because you remained entirely within their grasp;

That faction of Light remnants is not.

They must also worry that the activities of these remnants will draw the attention of other factions within the Church of Order. Should a conflict erupt between those two forces, their own secret will likely be unearthed. Thus, they are the ones who cannot sit idle.

To them, the safest and most secure course of action is to deploy their own strength to snuff out that branch of the Light remnants as swiftly as possible."

Hearing this,

Mr. Pavaro felt a sudden urge to laugh, though the humor failed to reach his eyes:

"To think that my channels as an Inquisitor to report upward cannot even compare to a band of Light remnants."

"It is indeed a piece of dark humor."

"Young Master, where are we heading now?"

"Home first."

"Understood, Young Master."

On the return journey, Karen leaned his head against the car window once more, seizing the time to catch up on his sleep.

Young John sat perfectly upright throughout, looking incredibly tense.

Mr. Pavaro glanced occasionally at Karen sitting beside him, tracing his own face from time to time, and then looked out the window, taking in the passing scenery that grew scarcer with each passing glance.

The car pulled up beneath the apartment building. Karen opened his eyes briefly, then closed them again.

Young John was the first to step out, opening the rear door to offer his support as Mr. Pavaro alighted.

"Supporting me is of no use," Mr. Pavaro remarked. "I shall be dead in another two days anyway."

Young John feigned ignorance, a sweet, innocent childhood smile appearing on his face.

Pavaro looked back at Karen, who remained seated in the vehicle, and said no more. Supported by Young John, he headed upstairs, with Alfred following closely behind.

The door to the apartment stood open. Sily, the maid, was busy cleaning, the tear tracks on her face plainly visible.

Beholding the unfamiliar disabled gentleman and the strange boy appearing before her, Sily looked toward Alfred standing in the rear with a sense of bewilderment.

"They are guests; they will be staying with us for a few days."

"Oh, very well, I shall look after them," Sily said, forcing a smile.

Alfred cast a couple of questioning glances at Sily before stepping into the apartment. It was only after entering that he realized the cause of her distress.

For within the ground-floor washroom still lay Madame Anne.

Imagine a maid arriving at her employer's residence in the morning, finding only a cat and a dog at home, humming a tune as she goes about her cleaning, only to open the washroom door and discover the corpse of a woman with a hole in her forehead, surrounded by candles on the floor;

Alfred took a few steps backward, coming to Sily's side, and asked in a low voice:

"You didn't call the police, did you?"

"Ah, no, no, I didn't."

"Good."

"Mr. Alfred... do you need me to help move... move that out?"

"Just treat it as though a relative passed away naturally at home, but we have no time to arrange a funeral just now. It will be sorted in a couple of days."

"Passed away... naturally?"

"Go on with your work."

"Very well, sir."

Sily drew a deep breath, and then slowly let it out;

By all accounts, she should have reported it to the police;

But by law, as an illegal immigrant, she didn't even possess the right to step inside a police station.

...

Alfred returned to the car, and Karen, closing his eyes, shifted his head to the side, saying:

"To Apple Street."

"Yes, Young Master."

As Alfred started the car, he added, "Young Master, Siley saw Madam Anne's corpse."

"Heh, she must have been terrified."

"Yes."

Karen did not press further, for he knew Siley would not go to the police.

After another short nap, the car glided into Apple Street, pulling up before Piaget's house.

Karen stretched; this intermittent, fitful sleeping had finally done the trick. Truthfully, if it were normal work, staying up all night would be no great trouble at his current age, but chanting mysticism demanded his own vitality as fuel, so he had to prioritize his rest.

"Alright, you may head back."

"Young Master, though the address you left was for the house next door, staying here might not be safe for you."

"Precisely because I know it won't be safe, that is why I must come."

"I understand, Young Master."

Karen stepped out of the car. Pushing open the unlocked gate and stepping into the courtyard, he paused, casting his gaze toward the second-floor window of the villa next door;

Vernon stood there, looking like a poet in the throes of heat.

Shielding his mouth with the back of his hand, Karen let out a yawn and continued inside, stopping before the entrance door. Before he could even knock, it swung open.

Because the curtains over the first-floor French windows were drawn aside, Piaget and Bedes were sitting right there, happening to catch sight of Karen walking in.

It was Piaget who opened the door:

"You've come."

"Yes, to check on you both."

Stepping into the living room, Karen spotted an easel as large as a classroom blackboard, though the canvas upon it remained blank, awaiting the brush.

Bedes, who had been sitting on the sofa, also rose to his feet, offering Karen a smile.

"Did the Church of Light honor the agreement?" Karen inquired.

The agreement dictated that besides themselves and Miss Bertha, no one else was permitted to enter, nor were they allowed to "probe" this place.

Bedes spoke up: "There has been no probing. If there were, I would feel it the moment I took up my brush to paint."

"That is well."

Karen took a seat on the sofa.

The Church of the Goddess of the Wall truly possessed many miraculous abilities, yet it also suffered from one fatal flaw... they simply could not fight.

"Would you like some coffee?" Piaget asked.

"Oh, certainly, I need it right now. But no sugar."

"Last time there was a reason for that."

"Yes, I tasted it."

Piaget poured Karen a cup of coffee, which had been brewed beforehand.

Karen lifted the cup and took a sip. Compared to that dreadful sweetness, he found pure bitterness far more tolerable.

"Have you conceptualized anything yet?" Karen asked.

"We are still in the ideation stage," Bedes replied.

"No rush, take your time," Karen said. "Oh, by the way, there is one more thing. I have lured a swarm of stinging bees to the house next door. I am not sure when they will arrive; it could be dusk, or it could be the dead of night."

"Next door?" Piaget gestured toward that direction.

"Yes, do you have any reservations?"

"None," Piaget said decisively.

"I thought you might consider Miss Bertha's feelings."

"A person must always move on; one cannot remain forever submerged in the past. Take you, for instance—after parting ways with Miss Eunice, haven't you been living quite normally?"

"Cough..."

Karen choked slightly on his coffee, subconsciously glancing at Mr. Bedes sitting nearby.

Mr. Bedes's expression remained tranquil;

It appeared no deep conversations had transpired between them; everything was confined solely to the collaborative creation of a painting.

"There will be danger tonight," Karen cautioned. "However, our way of dealing with danger is very simple: we pretend to know nothing, and simultaneously, we act as if nothing has occurred.

In fact, I suspect that when the bees scout the perimeter, they might first take a turn around this place. Therefore, if someone suddenly appears here, let us not panic.

Piaget, you are still the clinic owner, and Mr. Bedes, you are a painter. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Piaget nodded. "I did not hear danger in your words just now; rather, I heard something resembling the sound of freedom. Mr. Bedes and I—can we obtain our freedom after tonight and no longer be imprisoned?"

Bedes spoke up: "If one wishes to use a lighter to burn through the ropes binding one's hands, one cannot be afraid of the heat."

Karen looked out the window and remarked, "That fool on the second floor next door has been staring into the courtyard."

Vernon indeed had not violated the rules; he had used no special methods to probe this villa. He was merely using his eyes.

Karen pondered for a moment, then said, "How about this: we can be a bit more proactive. Do you have a telephone directory here, Piaget?"

"Yes."

"You haven't torn out the advertisement pages, have you?"

Usually, the colored pages of a directory contained the numbers of nearby banks, restaurants, and other establishments for the convenience of customers.

"No."

"Call for a pizza in a little while, and order some supper later tonight. Ask for plenty of food. When you go to open the door, hold a paintbrush and a palette in your hands, pretending you are too busy to take the delivery, and have the deliveryman carry the items directly inside the house."

Piaget smiled: "That sounds rather like opening the gates of the sheepfold ourselves to invite the wolves inside."

"Any more questions?" Karen asked.

"I have none. At any rate, aside from the Church of the Goddess of the Wall, I do not know much else. What about you, Mr. Bedes?"

"As things stand, I have no objections either. After all, the main battlefield is not here with us."

"Good, let it be so. By the way, Piaget, do you have any unworn pajamas here?"

"Please trouble yourself to fetch a set for me; I would like to take a bath first."

Having stayed awake all through last night and only catching up on sleep in the car during the day, he felt a bit greasy and uncomfortable.

"Go ahead and bathe first. I will leave the pajamas outside for you in a moment."

"Alright."

Cullen stood up, nodded toward Mr. Bede, and then walked upstairs to the second-floor bathroom.

While he was bathing, Piaget knocked on the bathroom door and said, "The pajamas are outside. I brought three new sets, choose whichever you like."

"Alright."

"I've also put a razor and shaving cream here."

"Thank you."

After a comfortable bath, Cullen opened the bathroom door and selected a blue-and-black plaid design from the three sets of pajamas. Once dressed, Cullen did not rush downstairs, but instead stood facing the mirror of the washstand.

In truth, Alfred's reminder was correct; there was danger here, and if it were anyone else, abandoning a teammate would just be abandoning a teammate, as personal safety came first.

But this time there was no choice—who could help it when one was a friend who had given him money several times, and the other was his future father-in-law?

There was another reason that was somewhat embarrassing to admit: much like a killer who likes to return to the scene of the crime to take a look, because his own framing and setup had engineered the situation about to unfold, he felt it would be a profound regret if he could not witness it up close with his own eyes.

Hopefully, everything would go smoothly.

Cullen picked up the razor box, opened it, then moved his face close to the mirror, looking closely and feeling it with his hand.

It seemed he did not actually need a shave, because he was too young.

After washing his face again with a hot towel, Cullen walked down the stairs and arrived on the first floor.

He caught the rich aroma of tomato sauce and saw Piaget holding a slice of pizza, eating while quite casually sketching and painting upon the large easel before him with a brush.

Mr. Bede was leaning back against the sofa, a cigar held between his fingers, his gaze drifting;

On the living room coffee table, a delivery