Chapter 204: The Sound of a Brick Hitting the Ground

Chapter 204: The Sound of the Brick Hitting the Ground

Seated below, Cullen looked at Delius, who occupied the center of the negotiation table high to one side. Into his mind flashed the image of Delius gripping the collar of his own father—Bishop Bourne—demanding how he dared doubt his loyalty to Order; there also rose the memory of Delius tormented by the spatial worm within his body, clawing desperately at the wall.

For a moment, Cullen could not distinguish which of the two was the true man.

Perhaps even the high collective of the Church of Order remained uncertain; otherwise, they would not have orchestrated that deliberate poisoning.

Xiti had been given the wrong spatial coordinates, but who exactly had provided that false location?

Cullen allowed his spine to curve a fraction, settling into a more comfortable posture against his chair; fortunately, he had no real need to ponder these things, nor did he have to make any decisions of his own. After all, he was no member of the Seventh Knights, and he was not the one trapped in that severed space, so he could entirely discard all anxiety and trouble, content merely to appreciate this clash of wits.

It was far more spectacular than any stage play; a play, after all, required a script, while reality so often walked utterly bare.

As expected, after another brief silence between both parties, the negotiations resumed.

Yet today’s proceedings lacked much of the gunpowder that had charged yesterday’s atmosphere; they began to haggle in earnest, line by line, scrutinizing every clause with a tedious dedication that lacked yesterday's theater but possessed far greater professional rigor.

It was almost difficult to imagine how these consummate professionals had managed, just the day before, to force themselves into such a spectacle of shouting, spitting, and rolling up their sleeves.

This shift, however, brought pure misery to Peigo and Vannie, who truly despised such a solemn, exacting atmosphere; before long, they began to doze once more.

Cullen pulled out the notebook he had brought, sketching and scribbling from time to time—not that he was keeping actual records, for he would likely never look at these pages again, and might even leave the notebook behind in his room upon checking out;

but it lent a greater sense of atmosphere and immersion to the role.

As the negotiations deepened, time slipped steadily away; at noon, Peigo and Vannie awoke from their slumber, slipped off to the washroom to eat, and returned to resume their nodding off.

By three in the afternoon, Cullen felt a distinct hunger—not a gnawing in his stomach, but a realization that his thoughts were scattering, unable to focus effectively.

The negotiations were simply too fascinating; he had lost himself in listening.

Cullen shed his own coat and donned Vannie’s black trench coat; its style was neutral enough that he felt no awkwardness wearing it.

He stood up to head for the washroom, but after only a few steps, he felt his stride grow heavy—the garment was remarkably weighted.

Arriving at the washroom door, Cullen fished out beef and orange juice from the inner lining; the beef resembled braised brisket, heavily flavored with Wien sauce, but a starving man easily overlooks the flaws in his food.

“I didn't bring any food. Who knew it would turn out like this? I thought we’d be feasting by noon—the banquet hall was already prepared!” That was Leon’s voice.

“Damn it, those Pamires bastards are truly persistent, actually daring to bite back at us. We should have just finished them off.” This was Laure’s voice.

“It’s not a matter of finishing them off right now; they aren’t actually that important, and they know it themselves. But right now, the dignity of our Church is at stake.”

“Elder Xiti and the Seventh...”

“Silence! Is a Temple Elder something for the likes of you and me to discuss?”

Cullen, still chewing his beef, watched Leon and Laure walk over to wash their faces; they, in turn, glared back at him—or rather, at the massive chunk of beef in his hand.

Both men licked their lips in unison; because last night's meeting had concluded so late, they had risen too sluggishly this morning to catch breakfast, intending to resolve their hunger at the noon banquet, which had now evaporated into nothing.

“Share some, quick, share some with me,” Leon urged, stepping up to Cullen without a shred of courtesy.

“Yes, yes, yes, share some with me too, share some,” Laure followed closely.

“I’ve already bitten into this,” Cullen said.

“I don't mind,” Leon replied.

“I don't mind either,” Laure reached out to snatch the beef from Cullen’s hand.

“But I mind,” Cullen stepped back two paces, evading them both.

“Wow, you can't do this!” Leon pressed.

“You ate our bread and drank our milk yesterday, friend. You can't be this heartless.”

“What I mean is, I have more here.”

Cullen reached deep into the trench coat pocket, producing a neatly wrapped roast chicken and sausages swathed in plastic film.

“Is there a lot?” Leon asked. “I mean, is it enough to share?”

“Enough for both of you to eat together.”

Laure immediately intervened: “Then we can't eat here. Let’s go to the storage room over there.”

“Right, over there.”

Further down the corridor lay a storage room, neatly stacked with tables and chairs intended for the conference hall; the space was quite confined.

Setting a table in the center, Cullen laid out the food from his coat, and the three of them sat on individual chairs, beginning to gorge themselves.

Leon mumbled around a chicken leg, “When you accompanied the Son of God into the hall, I noticed the bloated trench coats on those two women beside you. I was laughing in my heart, thinking you were all just terrified of starvation, ignorant that a banquet had been arranged for noon;

who knew that in the end, the fool would be me?”

Laure chimed in immediately, “It’s all the fault of those Pamires cultists. Today was supposed to be the smooth conclusion of negotiations, a day for a celebratory noon feast. Looking at this rhythm now, we might be stuck here until dawn again tonight.”

Leon stared at the pile of food on the table. “This is enough for the three of us to have another dinner.”

Cullen nodded. “My two companions still have another trench coat between them; this is just our share.”

“Yeah, so it’s a good thing we didn't stand by the washroom door to eat. If those ravenous wolves caught sight of you, you’d feel too embarrassed not to give them some.”

Finally, all three were full, leaning back against their chairs with long, relieved sighs.

From their earlier dining conversation, Cullen had learned that Laure’s grandfather was also a bishop.

Thus, the two of them could loiter outside for extended periods without worrying about being sought after or leaving a poor impression.

Cullen himself had little to worry about; he was security personnel, and no one would suddenly come down to assign him tasks, though he actually preferred to return early to continue observing the negotiation process.

However, seeing these two genuine assistants to the negotiation delegation slacking off so comfortably made his own eagerness as a mere bodyguard seem somewhat inappropriate.

Laure rested one hand on his stomach while using a chicken bone in the other to pick his teeth, letting loose a profound sigh:

“This past year, the Church has received so much bad news, alas.”

This scene was thoroughly familiar to Cullen—men, having eaten and drunk their fill, beginning to debate the grand affairs of the world.

Yet the gossip of these two differed from the wild boasts of ordinary men; they possessed access to far deeper secrets.

Leon agreed, “Everyone knows the landscape is shifting. Our own Church has internal issues; not long ago, an Inquisitor actually used the corpse of an ordinary girl to gather grievances and forge a tool spirit. Truly ridiculous.”

“Indeed, and it was exposed in public, making us look utterly foolish.”

“And it was Vicolai who uncovered it, heh.”

“Do you truly believe he did it? That fellow is an idiot, just like his grandfather!” Laure unleashed his mockery upon Vicolai without restraint.

Leon turned his head toward Cullen, asking, “Vicolai—do you know him?”

“I do not.”

“Steer clear of him if you see him in the future; the man’s mind is defective.” Laure tapped his own forehead. “Their whole family has issues. Their manners are atrocious. That boy used to try and fawn over us, wanting to run in our circles, but we never included him. Being around him just lowers one's status.”

So, this was the image Vicolai cut within the circle of young aristocrats—clearly marginalized and ostracized.

Recalling how the man had once deliberately boasted to his face, with a slight curling of his lips, that his grandfather was a bishop, Cullen also felt the man lacked some mental faculty.

Furthermore, it was no wonder that when Vicolai held a meeting in his own district, his grandfather had personally come to "show support"; it appeared his grandfather possessed a terrible reputation among the bishops of York City, with no one willing to help him build a stage, forcing the old man to harden his scalp and step up himself.

“The Gods are about to awaken; such rumors fly everywhere, and it seems every church is making corresponding movements. Heh, to tell the truth, I’m rather looking forward to it.” Laure licked his lips. “I truly wish to see, within my lifetime, what a spectacle the descent of a True God will be.”

Leon glanced at Laure. “Don't say that in front of your grandfather, or watch out for your backside.”

“I’m not stupid. But I am curious; even if the era of the Gods' awakening is drawing near, why do I feel... feel that Grandfather and the others hold a rather strange attitude toward this entire matter?

"In the previous epoch, our God of Order suppressed countless deities. Now that everyone has descended, what do we have to fear?"

Leon nodded and said, "Yes, I have the same doubt. My grandfather and the others clearly view this sign differently than we do. Recently, the Church has been continuously forging alliances with various factions, which seems a bit too cautious, as if they are making advance arrangements to cope with the awakening of the gods."

Karen listened in silence, not interjecting.

"It was mainly that turbulence in the Temple of Order that transmitted too much bad news to the outside world, giving them associations they shouldn't have and giving birth to thoughts they shouldn't harbor," Lore said.

"Heh, there is a secret behind that matter," Leon said, looking at Lore with great pride.

"Tell me, tell me."

"I only know this much because that's exactly what Grandfather told me. There is a secret, but he didn't tell me what it was. Grandfather probably doesn't know a great deal either."

"If even your grandfather doesn't know a great deal, then how serious must it be?"

"Who knows," Leon said.

Karen chimed in with a nod.

"Alright, it's getting late. Let's head back to the conference hall first." Lore packed up all the remaining food on the table, hid it away in a corner of the storage room, and then the three of them left together, returning to the conference hall.

Inside the conference hall, negotiations were still ongoing.

Progress was much faster than Karen had anticipated, because they were already discussing the issue of opening the Messenger Space to the Temple of Order.

Leon's grandfather said very solemnly, "This is our bottom line. We can grant the Pamireth Church a certain degree of freedom in secular and missionary matters, but if the Messenger Space is not opened to my Temple of Order, then this so-called merger is a joke.

Even if it costs the price of a Temple Elder and the Seventh Knights Regiment, my Order will not yield on this fundamental question of principle."

Delius said, "My meaning is, we agree to the opening, but the teleportation arrays of the two spaces should be independently guarded and maintained by each side. We can even agree to an exchange, with each maintaining the other's teleportation array."

"No, the teleportation arrays must be held in the hands of my Order. On this point, there is absolutely no room for negotiation, nor will I allow it to be skipped or shelved; it must be finalized right now.

Otherwise, all previously negotiated terms are null and void, and I can directly declare the end of negotiations, after which the Order will issue a divine decree and declare war on Pamireth.

I am not threatening you; I am stating a fact.

Moreover, I will not give you too much time to consider. Before dark, you must give me a clear answer."

Delius took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and finally, still nodded:

"Fine, this clause is settled. Let us move on to the next."

"Good, continue."

This continuation lasted until nine in the evening.

Leon and Lore stood up and went out, deliberately glancing toward the spot where Karen was sitting. Karen also stood up and followed them out, and the three of them quickly annihilated all the leftover food from the previous meal.

"This time the concessions are too great. The Pamireth Church still retains a part of its main framework instead of being completely broken apart as originally planned. After merging like this, secular problems can easily arise, making it impossible to blend together as effectively as expected."

Lore nodded, "But the ship has already run aground; we can only choose to land on the island."

Leon looked at Karen and took the initiative to ask, "What do you think?"

Karen spoke in a way that perfectly fit his persona, "I still lean more toward going straight to war, because I believe fists are the guarantee to defend order."

"I think so too," Lore said with some helplessness. "So when I compare our Church's past historical records with the current situation, I truly feel that these adults at the top clearly lack sharpness now. They seem to have forgotten how our Church's status was actually obtained."

Leon spoke up, "They just consider more than we do. If everything relies on fists to be resolved, one day, the fists will smash themselves, just like the Light Church back then."

"Consider more? With so many internal problems in the Church now, how come we didn't see them actually set about handling any problems while they were considering?

You know, Leon, sometimes I truly feel the current Church is like a corpse lying in a coffin, constantly rotting with the passage of time.

What it needs now is an awakening, an awakening!

Everyone knows that after a corpse awakens, its spirituality will continuously scatter and disappear, but if the corpse has completely rotted away, then even a resurrection spell won't be able to wake him."

"These matters are not things we can influence right now. You can wait a bit more; once you sit in your old man's position, you can push things according to your ideas."

"What about your old man?"

"My grandfather can still rise a bit higher."

"Heh," Lore rolled his eyes at Leon.

Karen spoke up at this moment, "I feel that, in fact, there is no need to worry too much about this, because does any other church not have the problems our Church has? This, after all, is a world of competing in rottenness."

"A world of competing in rottenness?" Lore chewed on the phrase, turning his head to look at Karen. "What you said is very interesting."

Leon looked at his watch and urged, "Let's go, let's head back."

The three returned to the meeting room, and the meeting finally concluded at midnight.

The negotiating representatives from both sides exchanged their respective finalized rough drafts of the treaty. This rough draft would be sent before the senior levels of their respective churches shortly, and only after obtaining their attitudes could tomorrow's meeting move to the next step.

After Karen escorted Delius back to his room, before he could enter his own room, the captain's voice came from the blue seashell on his ear:

"Elevator, pick up a person."

Karen pointed to his ear, signaling Fanni and Paige to go in first, while he walked over to the elevator.

The elevator doors opened, and Bishop Bourne walked out. He once again handed his identification to Karen for inspection. After checking it, Karen led Bishop Bourne to knock and enter Delius's room.

Originally, Karen thought that the conversation after the "father and son" met should be like this:

"Damn it, what on earth are you doing?!"

"Heh, I am just following your instructions, Father, to strive for the interests of the Pamireth Church to the maximum extent."

But in fact,

Bishop Bourne looked at Delius sitting on the sofa and praised:

"You did very well, very well indeed. Son, you are my pride."

In Delius's gaze, there was a faint trace of bewilderment.

Perhaps the scene he had originally anticipated was the same as Karen's.

"Very good, perfect, I am very satisfied."

Bishop Bourne walked up to his son and reached out, originally wanting to pat his son's head, but because the father and son had not met for so many years, they had long forgotten how to get along.

In the end, Bishop Bourne merely patted Delius's arm.

"Really, I am very satisfied with your performance today, it was simply flawless!"

Delius clearly showed a look of tension. Karen could see that this was a form of urgent anxiety, because things might have already slipped from his control.

Bishop Bourne walked to the French window, looking at the night view outside, and stopped speaking.

Finally, Delius could bear it no longer. He stood up from the sofa, looked at his father's back, and asked:

"Are you angered by me? Is that why you are purposely saying these words to save face?"

"Shh..."

Bishop Bourne made a gesture for silence.

"Be quiet, listen carefully."

Karen also listened intently, but did not hear any other sound. This room could completely isolate outside noises and senses.

So, what on earth were they listening to?

Delius asked for Karen, "What on earth are we listening to!"

Bishop Byrne turned with a smile on his face, the room's illumination casting a twin shadow of his form against the French window, where the Bishop Byrne in the glass wore a smile that seemed somewhat sinister:

"Listen to the sound of the brick hitting the ground."