Chapter 184: Who on Earth Are You?

Chapter 184: Who On Earth Are You?

Cullen had originally assumed Fannie would take him to a cemetery, but to his surprise, she brought him to the seashore instead.

"The captain helped me forge his death report. It stated his body had been blown to pieces, so there were no remains to hand in. But I didn't look for a graveyard to bury him either; instead, I burned his body to ashes."

"Did you scatter them into the sea?"

"Yeah."

"That's quite nice."

"He said he liked places with plenty of water, so I granted his wish."

"Why say that? The atmosphere was actually quite nice just now."

"I just despise this kind of atmosphere, it's so tedious. What, sit by the sea with you to reminisce about my ex-boyfriend, then borrow your shoulder to lean on, and after that we go to a nearby hotel to get a room or simply do it right here on the beach, letting him watch to heighten the thrill?"

"Sigh."

"Don't sigh. If you really wanted to help me set the mood, it shouldn't be me holding a liquor bottle while you hold a soda bottle. How am I supposed to get things started like this?"

"I have to drive."

"Heh." Fannie reached out and draped her arm over Cullen's shoulder. "Let me introduce you to him. A new teammate. On his very first mission, he went and knocked up the target he was supposed to protect. Don't you think he's amazing?"

"I didn't, don't listen to her nonsense."

Fannie began to drink, facing the sea breeze, bottle after bottle. Her tolerance must have been excellent, for even now she showed not the slightest hint of drunkenness;

Cullen, meanwhile, used his soda to slowly keep her company as she drank.

After a long silence, Fannie spoke once more: "Sometimes, I truly despise the times when there are no missions. Once I idle down, I can't help but think about all sorts of random things, and it makes me very uncomfortable."

"Everyone is like that, it's fine," Cullen comforted her. "You can try to redefine and perceive ordinary life anew; it's best if you can manage to switch between the two modes of living."

Cullen knew that many soldiers who had been to the battlefield experienced similar symptoms after being discharged.

"Cullen, I regret asking you to come along for a drink. It's utterly dull."

"Nothing left to say?"

"No, it's just that I suddenly realized that talking to you is like throwing pebbles into the ocean. There is a response, but it's nothing more than a solitary echo."

"Sorry for making you feel bored."

"It's not exactly boredom either, I just can't describe the feeling."

Fannie set down her liquor bottle and wrapped her arms around her knees, her gaze looking somewhat blankly at the sand before her.

"We are supposed to have faith, yet we are all so utterly lost."

"Anyone can have times of exhaustion and weariness, it's quite normal."

"Perhaps."

Fannie stood up and brushed off the legs of her trousers. "I've been drinking, you haven't."

"Mm."

"Drive me home."

"Alright."

Cullen drove, delivering Fannie to an apartment near Sycamore Street, where the car came to a halt.

"Just now by the sea, I seemed to hear his voice. He said my newly found boyfriend looks quite good, handsomer than him."

"Is that so? I wasn't paying attention."

"He said I've finally found someone with whom I can keep my eyes open in a traditional posture."

Fannie let out a stream of hollow laughter,

then patted Cullen twice on the shoulder,

smiling as she said:

"In my heart, I told him that the guy looks down on me. In this world, apart from an ugly creature like you who fancied me and was willing to die for me, there isn't a second person who would be willing."

Having finished speaking,

Fannie opened the car door, stepped out, waved her hand at Cullen, and walked toward the apartment without looking back.

Cullen sat in the car for a short while, then turned the vehicle around and drove toward the funeral parlor.

By the time he reached home tonight, it was once again very late.

After taking a shower and sitting on the bed, Cullen unexpectedly found himself unable to summon any sleepiness for a moment. It was likely because tonight's exchange with Mr. Gray hadn't completely drained him. This was bad, it had actually given him insomnia. Tomorrow night when they conversed again, he would definitely have to exhaust himself entirely before coming home to sleep.

Purr, utilizing the lamp on the bedside table, was currently flipping through the autobiography ghostwritten by Little John.

"Still proofreading?"

Cullen reached out and stroked Purr's head.

"Cullen, I've discovered that writing an autobiography for oneself is so difficult."

"Yes, finding different ways to praise oneself is always bound to make one feel self-conscious."

"Hmph, it's not like that at all. Rather, I've actually discovered that the past me was so elegant and carefree, and loved by everyone, yet unfortunately I missed out on it all back then."

"Was it romance?"

"No."

Purr rolled over to lie on her side facing Cullen, her tail gently swaying behind her:

"It's just that the old me only knew how to play, but didn't manage to play with any real flair. The current me looking at the past me is like looking at a little girl squatting on the ground playing with mud."

"The excitement threshold and the direction of excitement are different for every stage of life."

"Then what about you? What is your current direction of excitement?"

"I don't want to discuss myself."

"Is it that you haven't figured it out yourself either?"

"In any case, I am already trying my best to live. Whether it's figured out or not isn't really that necessary."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. Figuring out a direction is meant to persuade oneself to keep striving and moving forward, whereas when you are already moving forward and pursuing things, you actually don't have the peace of mind to think about this."

"Oh, are you mocking me?"

"No."

"You absolutely are. But what can you expect a cat to pursue right now? Oh, right!"

Purr pounced onto Cullen's chest, retracting her claws as she crouched and looked at him:

"When exactly are you going to advance to an Inquisitor!"

"I don't know, I haven't chosen yet."

"Even when women go shopping for clothes, they aren't as picky as you."

"I just feel that for me, the Inquisitor rank is a very important threshold."

"Of course, nonsense!" Purr said testily. "Once you are promoted to Inquisitor, all your previous accumulation can be fully unleashed. Your mastery and application of magic, your true advantage—it will be like opening a whole new door!

Even for an ordinary priest, that is the case, let alone for you.

The stage of an Inquisitor is exactly when you cash in on your accumulation and foundation!"

"Mm, right, right, right," Karen humored Purr perfunctorily.

"Hey!" Purr called out. "More importantly, once you become an Inquisitor, I can finally forge a covenant with you and become your symbiotic sacred vessel. The light energy within your body will receive a massive upgrade, and you will become a special existence possessing both the systems of Order and Light!"

"Mm, I know."

"My lineage abilities will also become available for you to use. You will master a portion of the power of the Ancestor Alan. If you master water-attribute power, the defensive strength of your Sea God's Armor will become even more terrifying!"

"Mm, okay, okay."

"I will also gain a certain degree of freedom," Purr finally got to the main point, "turning from an ordinary little kitty into a special little kitty."

"You can go ask Xili; she probably already thinks this cat in our house is the most special cat in the world."

"In addition, you will also have the ability to try and slightly undo a bit of the seal on that stupid dog, based on the records in Mr. Hoffen's notebook."

"Woof!"

Kevin walked into the bedroom from the cubicle, wagging his tail excitedly.

"Go back to sleep, stupid dog!" Purr scolded.

Kevin slunk back into his kennel in the cubicle crestfallen.

"So, Karen, don't hesitate anymore, because as long as you become an Inquisitor, the situation of our household will receive a massive upgrade. I can guarantee that in the entire Church of Order, no other Inquisitor can be as powerful as you—oh, except for Dis.

Even, if you can integrate your power and mine well, adjusting the amplification effect to its best, you can go straight to kill that Vikolai. Didn't you already write him down in your little notebook? Don't you want to kill him?"

"I want to kill him."

Karen paused, looked at Purr, and said very seriously, "But just to

Next came the exposition of specific directives for the upcoming tenure, a lengthy reaffirmation of the paramountcy of faith in Order; this segment proved the most protracted, yet flowed with the greatest eloquence, for Wicolai, true to his administrative origins, possessed a fine gift for theatrical oratory.

One would never have guessed that this was a man who usurped the merits of his subordinate inquisitors.

It was precisely at the peak of this feverish discourse, just as he launched into sweeping torrents of parallelism, that a cardinal clad in scarlet robes, flanked by two judiciaries and a retinue of attendants, graced the chamber with his presence to observe the proceedings.

Karen felt a distinct surge of alertness ripple through the assembly, noting as well that the cardinal’s gaze lingered with intent upon his own figure twice.

The subsequent agenda called for testimonials from the inquisitors' representatives, whereupon three of them stood to recount past grievances, the refreshing ethos they had discerned since Wicolai assumed office, the remedies they had secured, and closed with a grand outlook toward the future.

Karen—or rather, Inquisitor "Pauvaro"—was denied the floor, not merely by virtue of his persona, but because he had never received the script; those who had not rehearsed were afforded no place upon the stage.

Yet Karen was content enough to let his mind wander from his seat.

At long last, the conclave drew to its close.

Wicolai’s grandfather, the cardinal himself, advanced to the conference table to bestow a brief word of commendation upon their labors, and amidst a chorus of applause, the assembly dissolved.

Karen found the conduct of this grandfather and grandson lacking in decorum; what manner of kinsman comes so blatantly to bolster his own flesh and blood, and how could such a spectacle bear public scrutiny?

Or was it perhaps that this cardinal commanded so little regard among the episcopate of the York City district that no colleague could be found to lend his grandson a countenance of support?

Karen deemed the latter far more probable.

A working luncheon followed the adjournment, from which Mr. Pauvaro took his early leave; Wicolai offered no objection, dismissing Karen with a few hollow pleasantries.

Driving back to the funerary parlor, having assumed Mr. Pauvaro’s likeness for a rare interval, Karen greeted his two "former subordinates," Dincomb and Pick, inquiring after their recent welfare.

Neither Pick nor Dincomb dared utter a word of grievance against Karen.

Thereupon, Karen sought an audience with Dora and Doreen, whose reception of their returned "father" was entirely perfunctory, resembling the execution of some established protocol, for they had long known their sire was no more.

Finally, Karen presented himself before Madame Lake.

Yet upon beholding the return of "her husband," Madame Lake showed no grief, but instead stifled a sudden laugh, saying:

"Enough, now, enough. I have photographs to look upon."

Karen shrugged, asking, "Is it truly not required, Madame?"

"It is not, for you must soon receive your friend, and it would prove most awkward."

"Very well."

Retaining the guise of Mr. Pauvaro, Karen bade a renewed farewell to Pick and Dincomb, announcing that he must depart for a prolonged series of assignments, whereupon he wandered abroad for a time before resuming his true countenance to return to the parlor, only to find Pick holding a letter.

At the sight of Karen's return, Pick hastened forward to deliver the missive into his hands:

"Boss, someone brought a letter earlier, saying it was for Mr. Pauvaro, but he had just departed, and we knew not when he might return."

Evidently, after a baptism of carrots and sticks, even Pick, the more obtuse of the two hands, understood clearly who ruled the house; otherwise, by rights, the letter ought to have been given to Madame Lake for conveyance.

Karen nodded, replying, "I shall contact Mr. Pauvaro. Attend to your duties."

"Understood, Boss."

Bearing the letter into his study, Karen observed it was no official dispatch but an ordinary envelope, though sealed with exquisite wax.

Seating himself behind the desk, Karen tore the envelope open to reveal the parchment within, which bore nothing but a single string of telephone digits.

He had scarcely attended a conclave in Pauvaro's skin before this letter was delivered; the timing could hardly be dismissed as mere coincidence.

Karen pressed the desk bell, and moments later, Alfred pushed open the study door and entered.

"Young Master?"

Karen pointed toward the telephone apparatus upon the desk.

Alfred understood, grasping the telephone wire as his eyes began to flush with a crimson hue.

Karen then shifted into the likeness of Mr. Pauvaro and lifted the receiver, yet as he prepared to dial, he hesitated, gesturing for Alfred to pause, then walked to the inner door of the study and threw it open:

"Come inside, both of you."

Purr and Kevin promptly entered the study.

Karen nodded to Alfred, set the receiver upon the desk, and dialed the number.

Forthwith,

The voice that ought to have emanated from the receiver issued instead from Alfred’s lips, identical in timbre, transforming the transmission into a public broadcast:

"Greetings."

The voice was unfamiliar to Karen; he had never heard it before.

Yet upon catching the sound, Purr and Kevin reacted instantly, Kevin silently forming a "woof" with his canine muzzle.

Purr struck the foolish hound across the face, then leaped onto Karen’s desk, dipping her paw into tea to trace a name upon the wood:

Luke.

Adjudicator Luke?

Had he not yet been apprehended?

It was he who, upon the bridge, had slain Mr. Pauvaro and Madame Annie with his own hands.

Alfred spoke: "Why do you remain silent?"

This was the simultaneous rendering of Luke's voice from the other end.

Karen, having already assumed the likeness of Mr. Pauvaro, spoke in his exact tone:

"What is there to say?"

"Heheh, hehehehe..." Alfred laughed.

After a long pause,

Alfred looked upon his young master,

And continued:

"Perhaps you might tell me, who exactly are you?"