Chapter 205: Ten Years Ago

Chapter 205: Ten Years Ago

During the negotiations, Drius had once said that the cage dimension was highly unstable; it would take the removal of only two bricks for it to collapse.

To remove two bricks meant using the spatial techniques the Pamireth Cult excelled in most to perform a targeted demolition of that space, much like imploding a building.

As the Son of God of the Pamireth Cult, Drius was using Elder Sitti and the Seventh Knights—who were currently within that cage dimension—as bargaining chips to secure interests for his cult.

Judging by the trajectory of today's negotiations, he had indeed succeeded; in the face of the Church of Order's aggressive posture, he had fought for the maximum possible autonomy for the merger.

This was clearly evident from the highly dissatisfied grumbling of Leon and Laure, for they cared more about practical benefits than empty titles.

What they wanted was to enshrine the True God Pamireth in the supplementary stories of the Light of Order, and then suck the marrow from the bones of the Pamireth Cult, assimilating it entirely.

Originally, matters should have developed in this direction.

Yet now, everything had suffered a massive deviation along with this single sentence from Bishop Bourne—no, it was an overthrow!

Karen, standing right here, even felt that despite the presence of the "security regulations," was this truly something he was permitted to hear?

This sort of conspiracy seemed to have already broken through the barriers of "silence," and was no longer limited by the restriction of being unable to leave the Ankara Hotel before the conclusion of negotiations.

When the bricks were pulled and the cage dimension collapsed, bringing disaster upon Elder Sitti and the Seventh Knights, could he, an insider, still walk out of here alive?

Using an entire order of knights and a temple elder as sacrificial offerings—no matter what the underlying purpose was, and even if the true identity behind Bishop Bourne was anything but ordinary—this was not a price he could bear out in the open.

Karen subconsciously raised his hand, intending to tap a few times on the blue seashell near his ear; he wanted to call the captain for help.

However, midway through raising his hand, Karen saw Bishop Bourne's gaze falling right upon him.

It was not the Bishop Bourne standing in front of him, but the "Bishop Bourne" within the French window; without his physical body moving, he had twisted his torso around, a spectacle that was eerie to the extreme.

Karen hesitated for a moment, and with his hand still halfway up, he scratched the back of his other hand, acting as though an onset of eczema required scratching.

Unlike Karen, who was worrying about whether he would be silenced, Drius's emotions instantly entered a state akin to running wild, and he nearly roared at Bishop Bourne:

"What on earth do you want to do? What do you want to do?!"

Once the cage dimension collapsed, the Church of Order, facing such a loss, would have no other choice left, and the Pamireth Cult would inevitably be annihilated by the fury of Order!

In the end, all the groundwork, all the negotiations, would become a complete joke.

His sacrifices, his designs, his efforts—all rendered utterly meaningless in an instant.

Bishop Bourne looked at Drius, sighed, and said, "You are clearly much younger than I am, but why is the aura of twilight upon you even heavier than mine?"

"I want to know the truth!"

"You have already finished doing what you ought to do."

Bishop Bourne turned, looked at Karen, and said, "The meeting time is over."

Karen nodded and said, "I shall see you out."

Bishop Bourne walked toward the doorway, but as he passed by Drius, Drius extended his arm to block him.

Drius's expression was somewhat ferocious; perhaps, even if a father and son had not met for many years, a certain connection still existed between them, and he could feel that what Bishop Bourne had said earlier was neither an intimidation nor a joke.

"Make things clear before you leave!"

Bishop Bourne smiled faintly and reached out, intending to ward off Drius's arm.

A blue light instantly erupted from Drius's arm as the aura of space flowed forth, attempting to seal off this area; it was a spell similar to the Cage of Order, yet it was far more naturally formed than the Cage of Order.

A black halo appeared in the palm of Bishop Bourne's hand, piercing through this forming spatial lockdown in a flash; simultaneously, this stream of black light instantly sank into Drius's body, binding his entire being.

"Thud!"

Drius fell to his knees.

In just a single exchange, Drius was utterly defeated by Bishop Bourne.

True clashes often did not involve a grand display of spells traded back and forth in a noisy battle; when an absolute gap in strength existed, everything became exceedingly simple.

The last time Karen had seen such a simple neutralization of an enemy was when his grandfather took action.

At this moment, acting as the personal security personnel, Karen did not step forward to "rescue" Drius; it was not appropriate for him to intervene in a quarrel between father and son, and most importantly, facing the unfathomable Bishop Bourne, Karen felt that even if he did intervene, there was a high probability of just one more person kneeling on the ground.

Bishop Bourne prepared to leave, but after taking only a few steps, a blue astral mark appeared on the chest of the bound Drius, and a pure blue insect flew out from the starlight.

The moment it appeared, Karen felt a sense of tearing in his vision, as if a knife were slicing through his perception.

The blue insect rushed straight toward Bishop Bourne's back; Bishop Bourne did not turn around, yet the "Bishop Bourne" within the French window reached out his hand at this moment, extending from within the glass into reality to grab the spatial insect in a firm grip before it could touch Bishop Bourne.

The spatial insect began to struggle, and the space around it distorted and tore, but the hand holding it had extended from the formless to the tangible and did not belong to pure existence, so no matter how hard the spatial insect tried, it still could not break free from the restraint.

Soon, the power within its body seemed to be exhausted, and it grew listless, no longer tossing about.

Sinking into a listless state along with it was Drius; Karen saw blood oozing from both his ears and nose.

Bishop Bourne turned around, looking at the spatial insect bound before him.

"According to the records, the True God Pamireth was only able to freely enter and leave the dimensions of most Main Gods, and even traverse the battlefields of the gods at will, because of Semeth's companionship.

These spatial insects are the descendants of Semeth, yet none of these descendants seem to have ever replicated the glory of their ancestor, Semeth.

My son, what do you think is the reason that caused this phenomenon?

Is it because the lineage of the spatial insect itself has degenerated, or is it that the breeder themselves cannot reach the height of the True God Pamireth, thereby restricting the evolution of the spatial insect?"

With a gentle wave of Bishop Bourne's palm, the restriction on Drius was undone; supporting his entire body with his hands against the ground, he lifted his head, his face covered in blood, yet at this moment displaying a sort of stubbornness;

For he was actually, truly answering the question:

"I think both reasons apply."

Bishop Bourne nodded and said, "I know your answer is correct, but I do not like this kind of answer; in my view, if the two share a symbiotic relationship, the reason for one side lagging behind can only be that one side is not strong enough.

This is the proper attitude for solving a problem."

A symbiotic relationship?

Karen looked at the blue insect that remained bound there; so, the relationship between Drius and this spatial insect was equivalent to the relationship between himself and Purr?

At this moment, Karen suddenly felt somewhat fortunate in his heart—fortunate that Purr did not have a slimy, squishy appearance.

Bishop Bourne seemed very patient; he crouched down and looked at the heavily panting Drius, like a father educating his son:

"If you were strong enough, it would not be this weak; if it were strong enough, you could also rely on it to break my restriction;

You must know, the difficulty of both sides growing strong together is often much greater than one side growing strong.

This is the attitude for solving a problem; most of the time, too much pulling and weighing of balances, apart from giving one's own heart a false sense of satisfaction and achievement, actually holds no real meaning.

What I am saying does not conform to reason, but it conforms to reality."

Bishop Bourne reached out and patted his son's head.

"Has it collapsed?" Drius still stubbornly lifted his head to look at his father.

"Yes, it has collapsed."

"Why? Why do this!"

Blood and tears mingled, dripping down from Drius's face.

"Are you weeping for the Pamireth Cult?"

"Why? Why do this, just why on earth!!!"

"Since this spatial worm is willing to come out of its own accord to help you deal with me, the bond between you two has long ceased to be a mere spiritual bridge. You are partners.

As I thought, you fused with this spatial worm long ago, and you have done so beautifully."

Cullen pursed his lips. So that night, Drius really had been feigning it all along, letting the spatial worm—with whom he shared such intimacy—create the illusion of a violent rampage, only to use Cullen and Neo's gaze to relay the scene to the upper echelons of the Order of Force.

"It seems my worries were for naught. I was truly anxious that you would be too foolish, leaving such a precious creature unfused."

The words Richard had spoken to him flickered through Cullen's mind; he had mentioned that when Bishop Bourne stepped into the lift, his expression had been fraught with hesitation.

So, that was what he had been fretting over then?

He had not been worrying about whether his son remained loyal to the Order of Force; what truly plagued him was whether his son, for the sake of that so-called loyalty, would forfeit such rare benefits and fortunes.

"If the Church of Pamireth falls, I will kill you with my own hands—I will kill you!!!"

"Smack!"

The hand that had been cradling his son's head suddenly exerted its might, pinning Drius's face against the floorboards with a grinding, cracking sound.

"Where has the composure you displayed at the negotiating table today vanished to?

While completely suppressed by me, you actually dare to utter a death threat?

Ah, what an utterly foolish thing to do. Even if you harbored such thoughts in your heart, there was no need to speak them so naively. Does this not force my hand to eliminate you to preclude any future trouble?

Or perhaps,

in your heart, you still regard me as your father. After all, a father can always tolerate a modicum of rebellion from his son, can he not?"

Bishop Bourne gripped Drius by the hair, hoisting his face upward:

"As a father, I am gratified. But as the superior who dispatched you on this undercover assignment, I am furious!

I allow you to harbor love for the Church of Pamireth,

I allow you to embrace the tenets of Pamireth,

I allow you to betray the Order of Force, and I allow you to deviate from the God of Order,

for in my eyes, true infiltration means deceiving even oneself.

Yet I will not allow you to display before me, for the sake of this so-called sentiment, an expression that disgusts and disappoints me as you do now!

You are my son, you are my masterpiece;

I can lose a son, but I will not have a blemish upon my masterpiece!"

The bishop’s countenance shifted once more, his fingers beginning to smooth his son's hair with a gentle tenderness as he spoke softly:

"The morning assembly commences at eight o'clock tomorrow. As the meeting opens, the communication chambers of both factions will be unlocked, allowing messages to pass through.

The brick will not be pulled until ten o'clock, leaving a two-hour window between the two events. You may choose to have your people dispatch a warning to the Church of Pamireth, allowing them to thwart this in advance.

I cede the choice to you, and I hope you will choose wisely.

A choice born from a lucid understanding of the situation. I trust you will not disappoint me again."

Bishop Bourne stood and walked toward the threshold, where Cullen held the door open for him.

Adjusting the cuffs of his divine robes, the bishop offered Cullen a faint smile:

"Forgive me for letting you witness such a spectacle."

Cullen took a half-step back, lowering his gaze.

The bishop stepped out of the room, and Cullen closed the door behind them, escorting him to the lift and pressing the call button for him.

Just as before, Bishop Bourne did not remind him to maintain secrecy, nor did he threaten or bribe him;

it was as though on this floor, secrets had become the cheapest commodities, strewn everywhere, disregarded by all.

The lift doors parted; Richard made an inviting gesture, and Bishop Bourne stepped inside.

Once the lift descended, Cullen exhaled a long breath and returned to Drius's quarters. Without knocking, he pushed the door open and walked in.

At that moment, Drius sat upon the floor, his mouth agape, holding the blue worm in his hand and coaxing it to slide back through his jaws into his body.

The spectacle bore an uncanny resemblance to someone swallowing fresh, raw oysters.

Cullen could not help but feel grateful once more that no such rituals were required between himself and Purr.

Of course, Cullen also understood that the reason for this crude and violent method of "unification" was that both Drius and the spatial worm were thoroughly exhausted, incapable of returning via the method the worm had used to emerge.

Cullen approached with a box of tissues, drawing out a handful to present to Drius before taking more to wipe the bloodstains from the floor.

Once the tidying was complete, Cullen poured Drius a glass of water and a glass of red wine, setting them upon the coffee table.

"Please, rest well."

Leaving those words behind, Cullen stepped out of the chamber.

Standing in the corridor, Cullen tapped a few times against the seashell before walking back to the lift doors.

Before long, the lift ascended, its doors sliding open to reveal Neo standing alongside Richard.

Richard glanced at the scene within, then proactively closed the lift doors to descend once more.

Neo removed the silver mask from his face and inquired:

"What happened?"

Cullen had not utilized the emergency tapping rhythm, so Neo did not appear overly anxious.

Thereupon, Cullen recounted the events that had unfolded in the room to Neo.

He knew Neo's identity was problematic, and he knew Neo had always harbored certain secrets, yet at this juncture, he still chose to share the information with his captain.

Neo crossed his arms, leaning askew against the wall as he listened to Cullen's narrative.

When Cullen finished his tale, Neo nodded, but before he could speak, Cullen preempted him:

"Very well, Captain, I shall return to my room to rest."

Neo smiled. "Are you not curious about what I might say?"

"You would say: Oh, I see."

"Mm, that is indeed what I meant to say." Neo refitted the silver mask over his face. "Cullen, what do you think of this Ankara Hotel?"

"Last time, I thought it possessed the finest scenery in York City, a veritable holiday resort."

"And now?"

"A prison."

"Yes, a prison. Therefore, whatever you see or hear within these walls warrants no surprise."

"I am gradually attempting to accept the stillness."

"Furthermore, the Order of Force is certainly not entirely pure, but neither is it as dark as you imagine."

Cullen was quite curious as to what sort of perspective his captain possessed to utter such a phrase.

"Have you made new friends these past two days?" Neo asked casually, ensuring the impending "goodnight" would not feel too abrupt or stiff.

Did he mean Leon and Laure?

"Not friends, merely cellmates. Once we are released, our paths will likely never cross again."

"Cellmates? Heh, a very proper answer.

You seem quite adept at dealing with those highborn youths, always managing to handle them with just the right touch."

"It's the art of conversation... or rather, social skill."

"It isn't a skill, for it is a talent others could never learn even if they tried. After all, no matter how sweetly a little puppy barks, it can hardly make friends with a pack of tiger cubs—unless, of course, it is actually of their own kind."

Neo stretched his limbs, waved his hand nonchalantly, and said, "Good night."

"Good night, Captain."

The elevator doors slid open; Neo stepped inside, accompanied by the descent of the carriage after the doors sealed shut.

Richard suddenly caught the sound of the Captain's voice:

"Is it boring?"

"No, not at all, I feel my work is deeply meaningful."

Neo turned around, facing Richard;

Richard saw the Captain's shoulders trembling ever so slightly.

Just then, the silver mask upon the Captain's face drifted loose and fell away, revealing a serene visage and profound eyes that were presently gazing at him; his shoulders continued to quiver faintly, yet the Captain... was not laughing.

Richard instinctively recoiled two paces until his back pressed against the elevator wall, his own body shaking uncontrollably.

A sensation of chilling cold transferred itself to his skin; Richard found a silver mask being personally fitted onto his face by Neo.

"The squad's newly customized batch of silver masks, this one is yours."

"Thank you... thank you, Captain."

"Do you know? Ten years ago, I was just like you. While executing a mission, I was assigned to stand right here in this elevator. That meeting lasted for a full month, and I stood inside this elevator for a month."

"Captain, thank you... thank you for your encouragement."

"I am hardly encouraging you." Neo produced yet another silver mask to don himself, and Richard observed the Captain's shoulders trembling slightly once more.

"Ding..."

The elevator doors parted.

Neo stepped out, and after the doors closed behind him, he removed the mask; this time, he was truly laughing.

He looked down at the mask held in his hand,

murmuring to himself:

"Ten years ago, were you really just as foolish?"