Chapter 140: Regulations of Order!

Chapter 140: Regulations of Order!

The sedan glided forward.

Karen intended to steal another moment of sleep. He had just rested his head against the window when Alfred, steering with one hand, reached out with the other to proffer a cushion.

"For you, Young Master."

"Where did you manage to find that?"

"I bought it myself after dropping you off at Apple Street."

Karen pressed the cushion against the glass, leaned into it, and closed his eyes.

"Very comfortable."

Alfred offered a small smile and returned his full concentration to the road.

Little John had initially thought that uttering the word "pigsty" would pique Karen's curiosity. Anyone who had ever curried favor with others knew that sometimes, having the object of one's flattery spare even a few extra words felt like an absolute blessing.

Yet Karen's indifferent reaction left Little John somewhat despondent.

Pavarotti reached his hand out across the seat, letting it rest atop Little John's head.

Little John felt a sudden, icy chill seep through his skull, triggering an involuntary shudder. He felt as though this gentleman were a corpse.

"In truth, it possesses a soul."

Somewhat bewildered, Little John asked, "When you say 'it', who do you mean?"

"The thing you spoke of just now."

"The pigsty?"

"It is taking its revenge."

"This..."

"You are the object of its vengeance."

"Me?"

"Right now, you might find it amusing to possess these peculiar abilities, but later, when your contamination deepens and spirals out of control, you will regret ever being born to your parents."

Pavarotti withdrew his hand from Little John's head, but another shiver ran down the boy's spine regardless.

"Then... what should I do?"

Alfred spoke up.

"You should learn to have faith!"

"Faith... then which church should I believe in?"

"Believe in the true First Church!"

"And... who exactly would that be?"

"Do you honestly think you can just believe whenever you please? This church has strict, rigorous auditing requirements for every single believer!"

As matters stood, the followers of this church consisted solely of himself, plus half a cat and half a dog.

"Oh, alright." Little John was left entirely at a loss for words.

A brief interlude of silence ensued.

"Mr. Alfred, could you play a song?" Pavarotti requested.

"Of course. Which one would you like to hear?"

"Anything is fine. I used to think listening to music was a waste of time, but now I feel that wasting time is itself a form of beauty—a very luxurious sort of beauty."

Alfred switched on the car radio, and soon enough, a melody and a voice came drifting out. It was that song Karen had heard before, *A Letter to My Past Self*.

Pavarotti shrank his neck slightly into the collar of his overcoat, relaxing his body as much as possible. Of course, this was merely his own perception of relaxation; the muscles of his body had long since turned rigid.

With his eyes still closed, Karen spoke up. "Feeling sentimental?"

Pavarotti smiled. "Whatever I look at now, whatever I hear, it all brings a touch of sentiment."

Little John chimed in, "How sensitive."

And then,

Karen continued to sleep with his eyes closed, while Pavarotti continued to listen to the music.

Little John's eyes remained wide open as he sat back upright, awkwardly shuffling the tips of his shoes against the floorboard.

Owing to Alfred's modifications, the car radio functioned as a CD player, and this particular song continued to play on an endless loop.

Karen did indeed fall asleep. His past few days had been a bit too full, leaving him with no proper time for rest.

He had no idea how long he had slept before he was awakened by Alfred's voice.

"Young Master, Young Master."

Karen opened his eyes, set the cushion aside, and asked as he reached up to massage his neck:

"Are we there?"

"We are nearly there, Young Master. Tell me, does that truck up ahead look a bit familiar to you?"

Karen shifted toward the center, peering outside through the front windshield.

"It does look familiar. The advertisement paper on the cargo bed."

"Yes, Young Master. Last time you were driving on our way home, there was a traffic accident ahead of us involving a collision between a sedan and a truck."

"Is it from the same company?"

"One of the taillights is broken and hasn't been fixed yet. I remember it; it is the exact same vehicle."

"What a coincidence." Karen paused. "It's playing the exact same song, too."

"Young Master, just a bit further down is the Misu Sausage Factory. This vehicle is heading in the exact same direction as we are."

Karen nodded.

They arrived at the sausage factory. The main gates stood at the bottom of a slope in the highway. The factory doors swung open and the truck drove inside, just as another truck was pulling out. Even at this hour, the facility remained remarkably bustling.

"I really didn't expect us to just come knocking on their door like this," Pavarotti remarked with a sigh.

Karen smiled. "This is the method my grandfather taught me."

Alfred drove straight past the front gates without stopping. Only after traveling a short distance forward did he steer the car down off the main road, parking it within an alleyway.

*Screeech...*

A rather piercing sound rang out.

"Hiss..." Alfred drew in a sharp breath, deeply pained. "Damn it, the car got scratched."

Little John immediately offered consolation. "It's just a car, isn't it?"

Alfred paid him no mind, hurriedly opening the car door to step out and inspect the damage.

"..." Little John.

He had no idea what was wrong with tonight; every time he tried to blend in and curry favor by chiming into the conversation, he managed to say the wrong thing time after time.

Karen supported Mr. Pavaro as he stepped out of the vehicle, while Alfred remarked with a tinge of distress:

"I truly never expected a utility pole to be hidden in this alley; the paint will definitely need a touch-up."

Karen offered words of comfort: "It matters not, a carriage is but a means of conveyance."

Purr, who had been slumbering throughout the journey, was now perched astride Kevin's back.

"Woof!"

"We vetted this perimeter once before but failed to detect any anomalies; it seems a rudimentary concealment array must be deployed here."

"Allow me to sound it out."

Alfred produced a small pouch, shaking out a scattering of white powder upon the earth, before placing several charred, charcoal-like fragments atop the dusting.

These were all materials for array-crafting, brought along by Alfred as spares from the Allen Manor, where he had been practicing diligently prior to Karen's departure.

"Are the supplies sufficient?" Karen inquired.

Alfred shook his head, replying, "Young Master, we shall need to find a way to earn some points hereafter."

"The stupid hound and I shall require certain specific materials as well."

Pavaro spoke up: "Once my stipend is disbursed, we can procure them through the channels of the Church of Order; the points can be entrusted to the courier who visits thrice a month, and he will facilitate the purchase from the cathedral district."

Purr countered: "Your monthly salary cannot even afford blood-spirit powder, how could it ever suffice for our needs?"

The moment the words left her mouth, Purr realized her indiscretion and quickly amended:

"Forgive me, I did not mean it thus."

Pavaro sighed, "At times, I too question myself, wondering if I have chosen the wrong path."

"You are not in the wrong," Karen said firmly.

"Yet, before my eyes, it is difficult to perceive where I have done right."

"How could a man as dutiful and conscientious as yourself be in the wrong? As for your inability to see the righteousness of your actions, it is because the error lies not with you, but with this Church."

"I begin to grasp why you claimed that, given your identity, the Church of Order is the very last entity you wish to encounter."

"Order is Order, and the Church is the Church; it is Order that we revere."

Karen refrained from articulating: Order is Order, and the God of Order is the God of Order;

"You see through things with far greater clarity than I."

"You have delved far deeper into action than I."

"Suddenly, I feel a sense of honor that henceforth you shall employ my name and identity—ah, no, I should not phrase it so; I ought to be honored that the mask forged from my name and identity may afford you some convenience."

"Woof!"

Hearing this, Kevin gave a bark, his tail wagging with excitement as he shifted his hindquarters, signaling the feline perched upon his spine to hasten with the translation.

"He says he shares the sentiment."

"The array is set; I shall initiate a test." Alfred stood up, beginning to intone the incantations of the Church of Principle;

This was a rudimentary testing array of a low tier, for its sole utility lay in sensing whether an array was operating nearby, and it remained blind to anything slightly more sophisticated.

The blackened objects placed at the center of the white powder caught fire, only to extinguish quickly and send up plumes of white smoke, which Alfred observed closely to trace their drift before confirming:

"Young Master, there is indeed an array operating in the direction of the sausage factory."

"How shall we gain entry?" Pavaro inquired. "Do we force our way in?"

"How coincidental, this happens to be a maneuver my grandfather once imparted to me."

Upon hearing this, Alfred dashed off immediately without waiting for a command.

Roughly a quarter of an hour later, a cargo truck rumbled to a halt before them; the driver sat with a vacant, glassy stare, while Alfred occupied the passenger seat.

"Young Master, Mr. Pavaro, please climb aboard; the factory grounds are vast, and walking would be wearying, so riding is far more convenient."

Alfred alighted and moved forward to throw open the rear doors of the truck, only to freeze instantly upon doing so.

This was a vehicle Alfred had "commandeered" the moment it emerged from the factory, leaving him no opportunity to inspect its contents beforehand.

Karen assisted Mr. Pavaro forward, peering into the compartment to find it piled high with skeletons—not of men, but the skeletal remains of livestock.

"Young Master, perhaps you should take the passenger seat," Alfred suggested.

"Let us not complicate matters, I shall sit here."

They still had to pass through the factory gates, and too many occupants in the cab would invite suspicion.

Karen helped Pavaro into the cargo hold, and after the older man sat down, Karen took his place beside him.

The golden retriever leapt into the bay and immediately lay prone, twitching its nose as though deriving a peculiar comfort from the grim environment.

Little John scrambled up after them, his face turning deathly pale the moment he boarded, crouching in a corner and trembling violently as he hugged his knees.

Pavaro spoke, "Do you know what has sustained me through this investigation all these years?"

"Pray, tell."

"For years past, nearly every night, I would stand for a time outside my daughters' bedroom door; I could hear their muffled sobs as they were racked by the agony of their affliction. As a father, I endured that torment with them, and I lost count of how many prayers I offered, begging that the corruption within them might be transferred to my own flesh.

Since embarking on this investigation, when I lay down to sleep each night, the weeping in my ears is no longer that of my two daughters; I seem to hear a multitude of young maidens crying out, equally tormented, equally wretched, most of them of an age with my own children.

All of them at an age when they ought to bloom like flowers, yet subjected to such devastation.

Without seeing this matter through to its end, I cannot find rest."

Karen closed his eyes, offering a silent nod.

"Thus, I must proffer my gratitude to you; I had thought that though my task remained unfinished, I could finally close my eyes for eternity, never imagining that you would heed my prayer."

"May I speak with complete candor?"

"Of course, what truths cannot be spoken to a man whose remaining time may span no more than a single day?"

"I am incapable of sharing that exact same empathy, perhaps because I have no sired children, or perhaps because my temperament has always been somewhat detached."

"Yet you still accepted my casebook from Annie's hands, you still brought me to your hearth, you 'awakened' me, and now, you have brought me to this very place.

You deem your inner self detached, yet it does not deter you from undertaking these deeds.

Or perhaps it is not detachment, but rather that you have always abided by a code of conduct to which you strictly adhere.

Men of resolute action seldom have the leisure to indulge their abounding emotions; it is not merely a lack of time, but a profound sense that such indulgence is entirely unnecessary."

"I am a psychiatrist."

"I have heard of that vocation; it is said to be highly lucrative."

"In that case, do I owe you a consultation fee?"

"Ah, assuredly—forty Riels, non-negotiable."

"Ha ha ha."

Both Karen and Pavaro gave way to laughter.

Purr extended a paw and swatted Kevin's canine head:

"Meow, meow." (Look at you, preening as if wearing a look of enjoyment makes you impressive; look at them, that is what true elegance is called.)

"Woof..."

Kevin looked utterly aggrieved.

The truck restarted, turned around, and came to a halt right at the entrance of the factory building. Voices seemed to drift in from outside, but soon enough, the vehicle was in motion again without turning, suggesting Alfred had likely controlled the driver to bypass the factory security.

"The defenses here are very loose," Pavaro remarked.

"Because finding this place is hard," Karen said. "The real defenses are on the periphery, not here."

"Is it because of what happened tonight? I thought I saw lights flaring up in one direction earlier."

"Yes," Karen acknowledged. "They will be terribly shorthanded tonight."

The Raphael family had been dragged into the fray, reduced to mere cannon fodder, suffering devastating casualties;

The contingent from the Church of Order had also been assembled to hunt down the remnants of the Light;

Tonight was indeed the moment when this factory's defenses were at their absolute weakest.

"I suddenly feel that being hasty and direct is actually a good thing," Pavaro smiled faintly. "Because that way you don't have to repeatedly overthink and weigh the options. Not only might you lose the opportunity because of it, but after all that calculating, it's highly likely you still wouldn't come up with a safer, more perfect method."

"True."

"So, is this also something your grandfather taught you?"

"No," Karen shook his head. "When I was with my grandfather, I could be as impulsive as I pleased without any need for calculation, because I never worried that I would bear the cost of failure or mistake."

The truck tilted forward and began its descent, presumably entering something akin to an underground parking garage.

Finally, the vehicle ground to a halt.

The cargo doors were thrown open.

"Young master, we have arrived. You may step down. The workers in this workshop have just finished their night shift, and the few remaining guards are only at the first tier of the belief system."

Karen helped Mr. Pavaro out of the vehicle, and Kevin jumped down with Karen on his back.

Little John, however, remained crouched in the truck, his body beginning to tremble even more violently.

He had once sneaked into his father's car to come here. Upon being discovered, his father had slapped him across the face—the only time in his memory that his father had ever struck him.

This time, Little John suddenly felt a chill pervade his entire body, as if he had plunged into an ice cellar, making even breathing somewhat difficult.

"He shouldn't have come," Pavaro said. "This is the place where he was defiled."

"Let him pay back some debts on behalf of his father. Get down!"

Little John looked at Karen, then stood up with immense difficulty, and with just as much struggle, scrambled down from the truck. Upon landing, his footing gave way and he tumbled, yet he did not cry out in pain. Instead, he wrapped his arms around himself, shrinking back in sheer terror from everything around him.

Ultimately, he instinctively edged closer to Karen. The moment he made physical contact with him, a sentence suddenly flashed through his mind—words he had spoken to Karen during his psychological treatment:

"Those words of yours shattered my pride. It turns out I am just that fool who likes to twist his body inside the pigpen fence to show off the fat on his frame."

At this moment, Little John's body shook uncontrollably as he muttered under his breath:

"I was wrong, I was wrong, I was wrong..."

"This way, young master," Alfred led the way, or more accurately, a guard was leading the way, but this guard was entirely under Alfred's control.

Ahead lay a massive sliding door. Alfred stepped forward and pulled it open, revealing the scene within.

Karen and the others stood as if upon a small, elevated platform. Below them, illuminated by the harsh, glaring bulbs hanging from the ceiling, was a layout identical to a pig farm, except that within each pen, there were no pigs, but human beings.

They were either deathly pale or hollowly emaciated, tortured beyond human recognition. Not a single soul stood upright; all lay sprawled on the ground, perhaps possessing no longer even the strength to stand.

Many among them noticed the commotion from above and cast their gazes upward, but their eyes held nothing but despair and numbness.

Below, a row of buckets stood containing stored fresh blood.

Behind the buckets ran a ditch-like trough filled with a black liquid, upon which floated numerous discarded corpses.

The air was thick with a stench wrapped in a heavy, stagnant breath of rot.

It was a scene that shattered one's fundamental perceptions, for you were witnessing your own kind being reared like livestock.

Karen stood there, his gaze fixed on the expanse below.

By now, Pavaro's emotions had pushed him to a breaking point;

He dropped to his knees on the ground, eyes shut tightly and fists clenched, roaring in a low, furious undertone:

"How could they truly dare to do this? How on earth could they dare? How dare they... when they represent Order!"

Karen prepared to crouch down to comfort him,

But just then,

Mr. Pavaro struggled to his feet on his own, gently brushing away Karen's supporting hand;

He opened his eyes,

Looking down once more,

And spoke with a solemn, devout gravity:

"Based on the investigation, it is confirmed that evil church activities are being conducted here through the slaughter of ordinary people;

Pursuant to Article One, Chapter Thirteen of the Supplementary Regulations of Order, this venue is hereby sealed, and all involved church members shall be held accountable!"