Chapter 228: Still Alive?

Chapter 228 Still Alive?

Old Saman crawled out of the coffin, and then, he just stood beside it, taking no further steps outward, his gaze half contemplative and half cautious.

It was clearly a face weathered by the vicissitudes of life, yet at this moment, it revealed a constraint similar to that of an infant facing an unfamiliar world.

Karen, meanwhile, continued to eat the egg fried rice from his bowl; he was truly hungry.

The bedroom door was pushed open at that moment, and Alfred walked in, holding a plate of pickles Karen had made himself and a glass of ice water. After placing the items before Karen, Alfred glanced at Old Saman standing by the coffin,

And greeted him with a smile:

"Oh, you're awake?"

After offering his greeting, Alfred turned around and walked back out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Old Saman began to shift his steps slowly, one tiny stride after another. He came before that bowl of egg fried rice, looked at the food, then looked at Karen, his eyes somewhat flickering and drifting when he gazed upon him.

Karen picked up a piece of pickled ginger with his chopsticks and put it into his bowl, sending it into his mouth along with a bite of rice, asking as he chewed, "Can you still eat things?"

"I... do not know."

"Then try it."

"Oh... alright."

Old Saman sat down, picked up the bowl, took out the chopsticks that were stuck into it, and sent a mouthful of rice into his own mouth to begin chewing.

"How is it?"

"A bit salty..."

"Is it? I actually thought it was a bit bland." Karen shrugged. "Perhaps you're getting old and can't handle heavy flavors."

"I am dead, correct?"

When asking this question, Old Saman turned his head to look at the coffin behind him.

He had clearly arranged a teleportation array to transport the coffin containing his corpse into the spatial countercurrent after his death; as a result, both he and the coffin had appeared in this bedroom instead.

He was very familiar with this bedroom, because he had come inside during the day to look at the old refrigerator.

A coffin cast into the spatial countercurrent, yet dragged back to the bedroom;

Himself, having died, yet resurrected by a "Waking" spell;

For a moment, Old Saman did not know what kind of mood to adopt when facing this young man sitting on the cushion eating egg fried rice before him.

Originally, he had thought his captain, Neo, was the one truly skilled at disguise, but who could have known that this person was the one hidden deepest of all.

"I am quite curious, you are clearly already dead, yet you can still taste saltiness and blandness?"

"Perhaps... perhaps it is because my corpse was preserved relatively well."

"Is that so? I understand now." Karen nodded.

Old Saman's death was a suicide; that burst of blue flame had severed his life force in an instant, but because of this, his own body was preserved to the greatest extent possible, and his various organs were still capable of functioning now.

But this kind of functioning ought to be temporary and unsustainable. When the spiritual power within the corpse gradually dissipated, the operations of the various organs would also gradually encounter problems, until in the end, it completely turned into a rotting corpse.

"Who... exactly are you?"

Once, after Count Rekar woke up, he had also asked Karen in the exact same tone, because within their established perceptions, an existence capable of waking them must certainly be extremely powerful and terrifying.

"You said in your eulogy that it was a pity there was no chance to do it all over again, so I gave you this chance."

"..." Old Saman.

His lips mumbled a few times, and in the end, Old Saman abandoned his questioning of Karen's identity. His body shook slightly as he held the bowl with one hand and vigorously rubbed his face with the other.

Because today was his funeral, Mrs. Lake had applied makeup on him, so the makeup on his face was completely ruined after the rubbing.

"My funeral was disrupted..."

"It was not. Your funeral was very complete."

"But what meaning does this have? Although I do not know why you woke me, what meaning is there in giving me an extra three days after the funeral?

After three days, will I not disappear completely as well?"

"But what I can grant you is not merely three days."

"What!"

"I am clear that I ought to possess this capability, it is just that I cannot achieve it yet right now. But in the near future, I should be able to manage granting you a longer time of 'Waking'."

"Granting me a longer time of waking?"

"Yes."

"That is impossible. The waking capability of the Church of Order simply cannot achieve this step at all; otherwise, the Church of Order would have long been able to rely on the First Knight Order to become the sole orthodox church."

The entire church circle knew clearly that the First Knight Order of Order was a truly terrifying existence, but the entire church circle also knew clearly that the First Knight Order would not deploy unless a critical moment arrived.

"There is no need for me to deceive you. If I wanted to obtain something from you, I wouldn't need to do it through deception either."

At this moment, the bedroom door was pushed open once more, and Pu'er rode in atop Kevin.

"Karen, make a bit more fish jelly next time, alright? It wasn't enough to eat."

"Alright, I'll make it some other day when I have time."

Old Saman looked at the speaking Pu'er—a speaking cat. This didn't make Old Saman feel terribly shocked; speaking magical beasts were very rare, but it wasn't as if he had never seen one.

There were several families in this world who claimed to the outside that they had a family belief system, when in truth, they were existences with magical beast bloodlines.

"Old man, you're awake." Pu'er greeted Old Saman. It saw the bowl held in Old Saman's hand. "Dead, yet still able to eat? I mean, if you eat it down, can you still digest it?"

Old Saman reached out to touch his own stomach and said, "I can feel that, though very slow, it can still be mobilized to peristalce."

"Oh, then you'd better eat more fruit. Watch out for constipation."

Pu'er leapt down from Kevin's body, climbed onto Karen's shoulder, extended a cat paw to nuzzle Karen's face, and said:

"Going to the pottery workshop tomorrow, right?"

"Mm, mm? No, I can't."

"What's wrong?"

"I almost forgot. I have to go to Richard's house for dinner tomorrow."

"Oh, seeing family is still more important. It's fine, Kevin and I can wait a bit longer. Anyway, a puppet isn't something that can be made in a short time; we have to give Mr. Lemar time to purchase precious materials."

"I need to prepare some gifts. Do you have any suggestions?"

"Well, when you went to my house, did you bring gifts?" Pu'er asked.

"No, because to your family, I am the best gift."

Pu'er froze for a moment, then nodded and said, "Although these words are very shameless, it seems to indeed be the truth."

While Karen and Pu'er were speaking, Kevin walked up to Old Saman.

Old Saman looked at this golden retriever, a bitter smile surfacing on his face. He squatted down, reaching out to stroke its bald dog head.

Kevin took two steps backward. It always wore a small satchel on its body; at this moment, it slipped the satchel off and used a dog paw to claw a compass out from the satchel pocket, placing it before Old Saman.

Up until this point, Old Saman did not feel there was anything extraordinary;

Until,

He discovered that this dog was actually using its paws to recalibrate that complex and precise compass!

"..." Old Saman.

Kevin raised his canine head, looking at the shocked Old Saman, and smiled happily.

"You are no ordinary dog!"

Kevin bared his teeth in a grin.

"You are a demon beast!"

Kevin's smile froze.

Old Saman looked toward Garen, pointed at Kevin, and asked, "Is this a demon beast that understands the laws of space?"

Sitting on Garen's shoulder, Purr burst out laughing upon hearing this, saying, "Though this stupid dog holds a very low status in our household, saying it is a demon beast is far too insulting to a member of our family.

Get ready, stupid dog, it's time to begin!"

Kevin immediately straightened his body, threw back his head, his canine eyes turning solemn and austere.

"Old man, listen well, the one standing before you at this very moment is:

Born from a divine descent ritual that transcended all protocols,

The Guardian of the Goddess Miers,

The lifelong nemesis of the God of the Sea,

The mastermind behind the dismantling of the Sea God Cult,

Deemed a heretic god by the Order of the Church of Light—Raniedal!"

Kevin extended one leg, traced a grand circle in the air before him, then bowed his canine head, offering a formal salutation.

Old Saman stared at the dog before him, then looked at Purr, and finally, turned his gaze to Garen.

Garen nodded to him and said,

"It is true. It is a heretic god. If you hadn't handed that compass to it to adjust, your coffin wouldn't have appeared here."

Old Saman's mouth fell open. He did not know what he could possibly say right now, so he simply remained there with his mouth agape.

"I know you probably need some peace and quiet right now, but there is one thing I must remind you of. You need to construct the physical object from the blueprints you drew for me today as soon as possible. At least finish the first coffin first, so you can lie inside it.

You need to preserve your freshness for a little while longer. Once I possess the ability to replenish your spiritual energy in the future, I will wake you all again."

"You... all?"

Purr spoke up, "You aren't the first, you are the second. The first was the son of the sea-faring pirate, the leader who brought prosperity to the Allen family... Recard Allen."

"Is it absolutely necessary to add so many titles when speaking a name?" Garen looked toward Purr. "Isn't that a bit too ostentatious?"

"It is a sense of ritual, it cannot be lacking. I even prepared one for you, it's very, very long, do you want to hear it?"

"Uh, no need."

"I am the second... twelve coffins in total..." Old Saman seemed to suddenly realize something, a look of profound shock washing over his face—this time, it was utter, absolute shock.

Because he realized a terrifying possibility regarding the true identity of the young man standing before him.

"That is the way things are." Garen finished his meal and placed the bowl and chopsticks on the ground. "I woke you up, and you now have three days remaining. If you want to obtain a second chance at life, you can begin crafting the specialized coffin right now.

Of course, if you refuse, I will not make things difficult for you. Whether you believe it or not, I lack the ability to force you anyway. You can just treat it as having three more days of 'light,' and you can even set up another teleportation array for yourself to cast yourself back into the spatial countercurrents.

But this time, don't go looking for a dog to adjust your compass."

"Why would I refuse?" Old Saman smiled. "The current me is actually no longer the original me, for I only inherit my memories now."

"That is a philosophical question," Garen remarked.

"Oh, I have no desire to debate the matter. I merely feel much lighter now, because the current me no longer has anything to do with the Pamireth Cult. I can be free, and I can be willful, can I not?"

"Yes."

"Do I need to submit to you?" Old Saman inquired.

"I have no need for formal submission." Garen shook his head. "Asking this question is entirely meaningless."

"Yes, it is indeed meaningless. The moment you possess the ability to wake us and grant us continuous revival, we are, for all practical purposes, already under your control. But regardless, I have no other choice now. Let us quicken our pace then. Where is the warehouse? Have the materials been bought back? Are the helpers ready? I wish to begin working immediately. After I lie down inside that specialized coffin, I will have more than enough time to ponder and savor everything that happened today."

"Very well."

"Then call your manservant in."

"Alfred," Garen called out.

Alfred pushed open the bedroom door and walked in, looking at Old Saman with a smile. "Your psychological adjustment is far better than I had anticipated."

"I wish to know how the first one responded?" Old Saman asked.

Alfred replied, "He knelt directly."

"..." Old Saman.

"Of course, you need not kneel. The Young Master does not care for such manners. What the Young Master pursues is equality, equality of character, because on the path to seeking truth, we share the same aspirations.

Come, please follow me now. I have already prepared all the materials, and we can begin our work immediately. After all, your time is limited."

Old Saman walked toward the doorway. As he passed before Alfred, he asked in confusion, "I recall you used honorifics with me before."

"Yes, because back then, you were a guest."

"And now, I have become a fellow worker?"

"I prefer to call you a competitor."

"A competitor? Competing for what?"

"When you wake up next time, I shall explain it to you in detail. Speaking of it now would be meaningless, wouldn't it?"

"Very well, I shall remind you the next time I wake."

"Of course."

Alfred led Old Saman out of the bedroom and into the courtyard.

Xili had just finished tidying up the kitchen and walked out, preparing to return to her bedroom to sleep.

"Good night, Mr. Alfred. Good night, Mr. Saman."

"Good night, Xili."

"Good night, young lady."

Xili pushed open her bedroom door, stepped inside, closed it, and pressed her back against the wood, repeating to herself:

"Good night, Mr. Saman?"

Outside, Pick and Dincom had just finished tidying up the mourning hall. Seeing Alfred leading Old Saman over, the two assistants looked at Old Saman, and then exchanged glances.

"I regret to inform you that you will be working overtime tonight." Alfred clapped his hands. "But at the same time, I am pleased to inform you that you will receive an overtime allowance."

Because the bed had collapsed, Garen made a pallet on the floor of his bedroom for the night. Upon waking, he sat up feeling a bit stiff in his back; he was still more accustomed to a soft mattress and could not get used to sleeping on a hard floor.

After taking a shower and washing up in the bathroom, Garen stepped out of his bedroom. He first walked to the warehouse at the northernmost end of the courtyard, where the sounds of hammering and clanging still continued, meaning they had worked through the entire night.

Karen pushed open the door and stepped inside, finding Piak and Dincomb tracing lines across a blueprint dense with markings, their eyes thoroughly bloodshot as the same intricate patterns sprawled across the metal plates before them.

Alfred was meticulously carving the magic array according to those lines, while Old Saman handled the polishing of the core components, his hands perpetually glowing with a faint, blue radiance.

It was a primitive, manual scene resembling carpentry, devoid of any high-class grandeur, yet the details within were rich with profound knowledge; wearing nothing but a vest, Alfred remained in high spirits, having clearly learned and gained immensely through the night.

"Good morning," Karen took the initiative to greet them.

"Good morning, Boss."

"Good morning, Boss."

"Good morning, Young Master."

Old Saman looked toward Karen; though a full night of labor had not yet allowed him to process all of last night’s information, he had at least managed to settle his own mind, and he regarded Karen with a helpless sigh:

"You are the most black-hearted factory owner I have ever seen—no, even the worst tycoon cannot match a fraction of your cruelty."

"What did I do?"

"I truly never expected that the blueprints I drew during the day while alive would require me to be summoned from death at night to finish them; other factory owners merely exploit their workers' hours, but you do not even spare the dead."

"Since it is your own design, it is bound to be more convenient and faster for you to build, and most importantly, with you crafting the first coffin, the subsequent ones can benefit from the experience, ensuring greater precision."

Old Saman rolled his eyes at Karen before turning his attention back to the work at hand.

Karen turned to leave and walked toward the kitchen, spotting Xili crouching near the doorway, peeling garlic.

Xili glanced up first and immediately stood up: "Good morning, Young Master."

"Morning."

"Are you making breakfast yourself?"

"I am going to boil some dumplings."

"Alright, Young Master," Xili crouched back down, but this time she turned around, leaving her back to Karen.

As Karen prepared to boil water in the pot, Mrs. Lake walked over and said to him, "Someone is outside looking for you, named Borg."

"Oh, alright."

"Shall I let him in?"

"Yes, he is one of us."

Karen walked out of the kitchen and saw Borg standing at the courtyard entrance, carrying a backpack.

All this time, Borg had served as the liaison between his side and the Allen Manor.

"Let's go to the study," Karen said.

"Very well, Young Master."

Upon entering the study, Borg pulled several documents from his backpack, which presumably concerned the upcoming trade proceedings between Allen Manor and Dark Moon Island, though Karen held little interest in those.

What truly caught his attention were two letters tucked alongside those documents.

"Have you had breakfast yet?" Karen asked Borg.

"I am quite hungry, Young Master; I will head to the kitchen to snag some breakfast before returning to the manor, hehe."

Once Borg had departed, Karen picked up the first letter, which bore the signature of Ophelia.

The light blue envelope appeared highly exquisite, exhaling a faint, delicate fragrance.

"Aha, wonderful, caught you red-handed!"

Purr suddenly leaped onto the desk, pointing at the letter from Ophelia in Karen's hand as she continued:

"Look at this envelope, this paper, this perfume—tsk tsk, this is evidence, absolute evidence!"

"Is this evidence?" Karen asked.

"If this isn't evidence, then what is?"

"Then... what is this?"

Karen picked up the second letter; the envelope was pink, adorned with a dark moon, and right at the center of that dark moon was a heart symbol, signed—Bernard.

Purr froze entirely upon the desk,

gasping in shock:

"How... how could he still be alive!"

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