Chapter 225: The Gaze of God

Chapter 225: The Gaze of God

"Twelve?"

Upon hearing that number, Old Saman's first reaction was:

"So many?"

Then,

he immediately realized the special significance of the number "12" within the Church of Order.

The complement of a Whip of Order squad consisted of a captain and twelve members, there were twelve Orders of Knights in total, and many other entities within the Church of Order corresponded to this number.

"Are you certain?" Old Saman asked.

Karen nodded: "Yes, I am certain."

"Very well, I will design it. It can be finished before noon. Let me use your desk."

"Alright."

Karen picked up the copy of *I Forgot You in the Spring*, stood up, and vacated his seat.

After Old Saman sat down, he took up the fountain pen and said with self-deprecation:

"A man with one foot in the grave, yet still summoned to labor."

"This is what keeps life fulfilling."

Old Saman replied testily, "My utmost thanks to you then."

"You are most welcome."

Karen walked out of the study and came to sit on a long bench in the courtyard, leaning back against the flowerbed behind him, which exuded a rich fragrance.

Continuing his reading, before long, Karen noticed an unfamiliar figure walking from the shop front into the backyard.

Moving the book aside, Karen looked toward her; she possessed shoulder-length blonde hair, a slender figure, and wore a red bodice that lent her an air of elegance and dignity.

Subconsciously, Karen compared her with Eunice in his mind—the instinct of any creature possessing a mate.

After the comparison, he concluded that his own Eunice had a better figure and a far superior temperament.

The woman also sensed Karen's appraising gaze, offering him a proactive smile as she spoke:

"Hello, sir. I assume you must be my employer? Dora and Dorren often tell me how handsome their brother is and insisted on introducing us, but you always seemed so busy that I never managed to meet you properly."

Karen stood up and shook hands with the woman:

"Hello, my name is Karen. My apologies, I have indeed been rather preoccupied lately."

"You may call me Daisy. I am responsible for Dora and Dorren's composition, mathematics, and fine arts."

"Oh, then you truly are versatile."

"Mainly because you offer such a generous salary, Mr. Karen."

"I believe you are worth that wage."

Daisy made her way to Dora and Dorren's room, and Karen sat down once more to resume his reading.

He had reached the section where the author suspected his wife of infidelity; this portion was written with such abstraction that Karen felt the author himself must have been in a state of mental derangement at the time. A person in such a state usually grows as paranoid as a rat, capable of voluntarily conjuring up numerous scenarios that never existed.

The description of the wife's murder was somewhat chaotic, triggered by a verbal altercation in the morning. The author asked his wife where the milk was, and she replied that it was at the door and hadn't been brought in yet, before adding a follow-up:

Don't you have hands to fetch it yourself?

Following that sentence came the author's muddled description; the syntax became extremely disjointed, and his logic grew highly fractured. One moment he grasped a knife, the next an axe, and the next a metal trophy, so that by the end, one could not tell what the actual weapon was.

Yet all the chaos reached its conclusion the moment that single line appeared.

"She is dead."

Following this sentence, the author's prose suddenly became exceptionally rigorous, and the narrative logic immediately rose to a very high standard.

Thereupon, he began the disposal of the corpse, followed by handling inquiries regarding his wife's "disappearance" and maneuvering around the police.

Karen rubbed his eyes. The book was not thick, and the story itself was not long. If one were to excise all those burdensome, hallucination-like adjectives that cluttered the first half, the book would be even thinner; but in the publisher's eyes, the chaos of the first half was precisely the true attraction, so it had mostly been retained.

And indeed it was so; though the subsequent corpse disposal section was meticulously detailed, it conversely lost its appeal.

Karen began to leaf through the pages rapidly until he reached the very end.

The final volume consisted of essays unrelated to his wife; he offered not the slightest repentance here, but rather sang praises to dandelions.

Karen closed the book, and before he knew it, the sun hung high in the sky.

Entering the kitchen, he saw Sily preparing lunch. Karen picked up an apron, tied it around his waist, and spoke:

"Let me prepare lunch."

Karen casually picked up a kitchen knife, weighed it in his hand, and smiled.

……

"Alas..."

Old Saman finished the blueprints. Ten drawings in total, all completed, divided into two sections: coffin construction and array formation layout. This was already the result of omitting many details, for he knew that the expert assisting Karen in running the refrigerator could understand these elisions without requiring tedious explanations from himself.

Alfred pushed open the study door and walked in, picking up the coffee pot to refill Old Saman's cup.

Old Saman pointed at the blueprints on the desk and said, "That is all of them. Gather them up."

"Very well. Thank you for your hard work, sir."

Alfred carefully gathered the blueprints.

Old Saman picked up the fresh coffee, took a sip, and said, "Bring me that notebook of yours to look at again."

"I can read it aloud to you, but I cannot let you see it."

"What is the particular reason for that?"

"What I read is only what you are permitted to hear. What you are not permitted to hear, I do not read."

"Heh. Things committed to writing are meant to be seen by others, are they not?"

"Yes, you are quite right, but it also depends on the person."

"I cannot see it?"

"You cannot."

"Why not?"

"Because you are still alive."

"Meaning, after I die, I can see it?"

"Yes."

"Tsk... that logic makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense."

"Are you going to bury that notebook with me as a funerary object?"

"That can certainly be arranged."

"Can you bear to?"

"I have copied more than twenty volumes, so sending you one as a burial accompaniment is of little consequence."

"I am quite curious—how could a man like you be willing to serve as another's manservant?"

"Are we not all servants of the gods?"

"That is different."

"There is no difference at all. The Young Master would not send me to my death, yet the God Pamireth demands yours tonight."

"It was not commanded by the God, it is what I demand of myself!" Old Saman raised his voice.

"The gods are far too busy, so busy they never speak to actively demand anything of us, yet our every word and deed conforms to their standards."

"Do you know, a while back I truly thought you had gone mad."

"I have a recording here that bears a striking resemblance to what you just said, though I haven't had the chance to read it to you yet."

"Oh? What words?"

"When others mock me as a madman, I mock them in return, for they have never been able to see clearly."

"Are you... mocking me?"

"Between people of differing faiths, each always deems the other an incurable lunatic."

"The tone of your voice today, why does it feel somewhat different?"

"Is it different? I have always addressed you with the utmost deference."

"Heh, I see now. Knowing that I am to die tonight, and realizing that your proselytizing is hopeless, you no longer bother to offer sincere flattery."

Alfred smiled, offering no reply.

"What is that lad Karen doing right now?"

"The Young Master is in the kitchen."

"I shall go find him."

Old Saman stood up, stretching his limbs as he walked out of the study.

Alfred picked up the blueprints, murmuring to himself:

"Who keeps feeding bait to a fish that has already been caught?"

Pushing open the door, he entered the bedroom and walked into the alcove. Kevin lay prostrated there, sleeping off a second morning nap. This dog had been working tirelessly of late, running the refrigerator and crafting array beads until his paws barely touched the ground. After Karen woke up this morning, Kevin had gone to replace the energy crystals in the refrigerator, and was now resting in his bed inside the alcove.

Seeing Alfred approach, Kevin could only open his eyes in helpless resignation.

"Take a look at these."

Alfred spread the blueprints before Kevin. The dog extended a paw to press down on them, then shook his head at Alfred. Alfred immediately opened the small cabinet in the alcove, retrieved a pair of spectacles, and placed them upon the Golden Retriever.

Alfred, who had once seen Karen eating with bamboo chopsticks and immediately ordered ten pairs of silver chopsticks as a gift, had naturally long since ordered a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles from an eyewear shop for the dog.

Kevin scrutinized the blueprints, nodding his canine head continuously.

"Woof."

"I think so too, his level of skill is truly excellent."

"Woof."

"Yes, of course I know this isn't your profession, but I understand that your vision and experience will allow you to figure this out very quickly. Besides, don't we have the blueprints right here?"

"Woof."

"The number twelve was personally set by the Young Master."

"Woof."

"This is not the first time such a coincidence has occurred."

Alfred drew a newspaper from his coat pocket. It was the Order Weekly, delivered just today, which Karen had not yet found time to read.

The upper half of the front page stated that yesterday at noon, the Church of Order had formally declared war on the Church of Samsara.

The lower half stated that yesterday morning, the Church of Samsara had submitted an instrument of surrender to the Church of Order.

"Look here."

Alfred pointed to the small bold text beneath the main headline declaring war:

"Because the existence of the Church of Samsara disrupts the order that should naturally exist between life and death, we, the Church of Order, declare war upon Samsara!"

"The last time the Young Master returned, he told me what had transpired and mentioned this very phrase he had spoken back then. The Young Master always believed this phrase existed within the Light of Order, thinking he had read it in that book, which was why it remained in his mind.

But the reality is that the Light of Order hardly makes any mention of the relationship between the God of Order and the God of Samsara, nor does it state that the God of Order ever uttered such a phrase. I suspect the relationship between these two deities was rather poor."

Kevin nodded.

Old Saman, who had no intention of eating lunch, just happened to pass by the dining room door. After walking past, he took a few steps back, came to a halt, and stared blankly at the sumptuous feast spread across the table.

Only then did he realize that the oil-splashed noodles, dumplings, and hotpot the kid had made for him before had mostly been casual, perfunctory efforts to just get by.

"Has the portion for the ladies been sent over?" Cullen asked Hilly.

"It has, Young Master, and I shall be eating over there as well."

The prepared dishes had been divided into four portions: one was sent to Dora, Dorine, their mother, and their teacher, where Hilly would also dine;

one was delivered to Pu'er and Kevin; another went to Pick and Dinkum.

The final portion remained arrayed upon the table. Alfred walked in, washed his hands, and took a seat; Cullen sat down as well. Both scooped rice into their bowls, picked up their chopsticks, and began to eat.

Oh, and right beside them stood another bowl brimful of rice, with chopsticks thrust upright into the grain at Cullen’s explicit request.

"Hmph... cough!"

Old Saman cleared his throat at the doorway.

Cullen and Alfred continued eating, acting as though they had heard nothing.

"Cough, cough, cough!"

Cullen looked toward the door with a smile, pointed at the bowl with the upright chopsticks, and said:

"Come in and eat. This bowl of rice was prepared for you from the very start."

Old Saman stepped inside and sat at the dining table. Looking at the spread of delicacies, his gaze turned somewhat dark.

"You did this on purpose!"

"When business is afoot, the meals are naturally finer than usual. That is the rule," Alfred explained.

Cullen said to Old Saman, "Eat up. Your body hasn't undergone embalming, so not long after you lie in that coffin, you will surely soil it inside anyway. A bit more food won't make a difference now."

"Ah, true indeed."

Old Saman finally found a reason that could convince himself. He picked up his chopsticks and fell to. By the time Cullen and Alfred had eaten their fill and laid down their chopsticks, Old Saman was still adding more rice and fighting onward.

"If you had cooked such a feast for me earlier, you brat, I might have given you a few more good things. You lost out, you really lost out."

"What good things could possibly be left in your house?"

"Not in my house, but within a sealed domain."

"A sealed domain?" Cullen’s eyes betrayed his perplexity. "A sealed domain belonging to the Order of the Church?"

"Indeed."

"You wish to enter it?"

"Heh, merely a passing thought, one I have never actually put into action."

Cullen had once used another Lax copper coin to enter a sealed domain, relying on the mask his grandfather had given him, so he knew full well how perilous such a place could be.

Old Saman rose to ladle some soup, but Alfred took the bowl to do the task for him.

While waiting for the soup, Old Saman let slip another remark:

"Your captain possesses a secret."

"I know."

"You know?"

"Yes."

"You know everything?"

"Presumably so."

"Including why he had to visit the cemetery every single day a short while ago?"

"He did it to keep an eye on you, and then he would pause before Elisa’s tombstone to rest a moment."

"Heh..."

Old Saman flashed a deeply meaningful smile, intentionally making sure Cullen saw it with absolute clarity.

"What else do you know?"

"Forget it. I am a dying man, so I shall hold my tongue. I wouldn't want to die a restless death."

"I have no fondness for playing such riddles."

"He may have told you already, or perhaps he hasn't, but regardless, it isn't my place to pry, is it?

And at the very least, I can see he harbors no ill intent toward you. That captain of yours can be counted on when it truly matters."

"You could tell me a little more of what you know."

"I will not. Unless you awaken me after my death—though unfortunately, my realm is far too high for you to ever rouse me, hahaha."

"Heh."

When lunch concluded, Old Saman had Mrs. Lake touch up his makeup once more;

because her own husband had been an inquisitor, Mrs. Lake clearly possessed a stronger fortitude against such people and matters, approaching it with the simple mindset of completing her usual work.

With all preparations in order, at a quarter to two in the afternoon, Old Saman lay down inside the coffin in the center of the mourning hall.

The funeral service officially commenced.

The mourners who arrived were vaster in number than Cullen had anticipated, many being neighbors who lived alongside the cemetery. The Wienese and the Rylans shared a similar habit: they never viewed a cemetery as a grim or ghostly place, but rather enjoyed strolling through them as if they were public parks. Thus, over the long years, Old Saman had actually gathered a fair amount of goodwill.

Yet while many came to mourn, virtually no one offered condolence money. Clearly, their bonds only extended far enough to grant him a final glance.

Delius did not appear again, but the captain arrived midway through, handing a small pouch to Cullen. It was stuffed entirely with Order vouchers, though the captain did not forget to inform Cullen that the points owed to him had already been deducted in advance.

This also heralded the total evaporation of Cullen's medical fee.

After paying his respects to Old Saman lying in the coffin, the captain chose to depart.

The funeral service concluded at dusk, and as the guests departed, Old Saman was able to rise from his coffin. Having completely cast off all restraints, he even joined them for dinner.

After dinner, Old Saman lay back down inside the coffin, and Pick and Dinkum hoisted it together onto the hearse.

Cullen took the wheel himself, starting the engine to drive toward the Ivy Cemetery, where Old Saman had dug his own tomb in advance.

As the hearse journeyed onward,

Old Saman, finding it rather dull lying within the coffin, saw Alfred writing something in that notebook once again and inquired out of curiosity:

"Is there something new to transcribe?"

Alfred shook his head and said, "Enriching the legends of the God is precisely what a believer ought to do, is it not?"

"You are so pious, yet the God you believe in might not necessarily see you."

Alfred looked at Old Saman and said with absolute gravity, "But I can assure you that the gaze of the God has long since fallen upon you, and has already decided your fate."

"Very well, very well, you truly are a zealot."

Old Saman let out a yawn,

and continued:

"Ah~ I am sleepy. How wonderful, soon I shall sleep for eternity."

"Yes, it really is good."

Alfred agreed, closing his notebook at the same time.

He had just written a few numbers and symbols on the newest page of the notebook:

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