Chapter 263: Best Friend!

Chapter 263: The Best Friend!

Inside the grand assembly hall, laughter rippled through half of the seating area.

It was a fundamentally absurd and comical matter to begin with, but once His Eminence the Cardinal took the lead in laughing, the Chief Bishops of the various grand districts harmonized in amusement. Naturally, the adjudicating priests in the spectator gallery joined the rising tide of mockery, entirely free of psychological burden.

Karen was laughing, and Leon was laughing too. Sitting beside Karen, Memphis saw him laughing and likewise tugged at the corners of his mouth, forcing a few strained chuckles.

Just then, an attendant pushing a refreshment cart happened to pass by. Leon reached out, pulled a bag of roasted sunflower seeds from the cart, and placed it on the side table. Karen reached for a handful, and Memphis followed suit, grabbing one himself.

The three of them passed the time cracking open sunflower seeds, continuing to appreciate this grand performance of a negotiation.

Eventually, the laughter began to subside. Throughout the display, the Church of Samsara offered not a single protest.

Negotiations were, by their very nature, a dance of demanding exorbitant prices only to settle for grounded repayments. Each side flaunted their demands, then proceeded to hack away at each other's terms until they reached their respective bottom lines.

In this regard, the Church’s method of negotiation differed very little from that of a marketplace matron haggling over cotton trousers.

Seeing that the opposing side had finished laughing, the handsome male spokesperson for the Church of Samsara spoke up once more. "I believe this constitutes the foundation of mutual trust between both parties, and represents a fundamental respect for peace."

At this moment, Bishop Wolfrun, Leon’s grandfather, stood up. "Are you finished speaking?"

"This is our primary negotiating demand. Our side believes that only by first satisfying this condition can the subsequent negotiation process proceed smoothly."

"Very well."

Bishop Wolfrun looked toward Cardinal Clyde, who gave a subtle nod.

Sitting further back, Karen thought to himself: *It appears Bishop Wolfrun is indeed the designated voice for the forces of Order.*

It was quite an interesting sensation. The nominal first figure of the York City Grand District, when participating in a negotiation assembly of this magnitude, could only serve as a mere spokesperson.

Bishop Wolfrun cleared his throat.

Instantly, all the negotiating representatives of the Church of Order seated in the central area began to smooth and adjust their divine robes. The scribes standing beside each representative stepped forward, beginning to gather the documents strewn across the negotiation table.

This scene shattered the composure of the Samsara delegation, their faces fracturing into expressions of sheer astonishment.

The emissaries from various other major churches, who had only recently entered the hall, looked on with curious glances.

Bishop Wolfrun spoke with chilling clarity: "I now declare these negotiations terminated. The war shall resume."

The moment these words were uttered, the entire assembly hall fell into an absolute, breathless silence.

No one had anticipated that the attitude of the Church of Order would be so unyielding and devastatingly direct.

At this time, the adjudicating priests in the spectator gallery also began to straighten their robes, rising to their feet one after another, preparing for a collective departure.

The situation was hurtling at breakneck speed toward total collapse.

Romir, the Gatekeeper of the Church of Samsara, spoke up at this critical juncture: "Your esteemed side must surely understand that this is a negotiation."

The underlying implication was clear: since it was a negotiation, anything could be discussed. Everyone should sit down and talk through it slowly.

Wolfrun countered immediately, "Your side must surely understand who the defeated party is."

Cardinal Clyde stood up then. His voice was not loud, yet as he spoke, he ensured that every single syllable fell with perfect, crystalline clarity into the ears of everyone present:

"In recent days, the black crows sent to me by those Knight Commanders who missed out on the battlefield were numerous enough to dye my entire residence black. This works out splendidly. The front-line knight orders can now rotate back to rest and reorganize, and the next wave of knight orders will take charge of initiating the subsequent round of hostilities."

The handsome spokesperson for the Church of Samsara immediately spoke up, his voice rising: "This is a provocation! A declaration of war, a trampling of peace! Is Order not afraid of provoking a boycott from the entire ecclesiastical circle?"

Bishop Wolfrun responded smoothly, "We possess ample evidence to prove exactly whose forces attempted to shatter the caged space and strike first against our knight orders."

With that, Bishop Wolfrun cast his gaze around the entire room and stated, "The side that initiates the provocation holds no right to hoist the banner of peace."

Following his words, all the bishops behind the negotiation table took a few steps back, waiting for the Cardinal to depart first. The order of retirement naturally mirrored the precise sequence of their arrival.

Everyone present understood that this was highly likely an exercise in extreme brinkmanship from the Church of Order.

There was nothing inherently wrong with the Church of Samsara's method of negotiation. They knew they had been defeated, and they understood they would have to cede interests and pay tribute, but they hoped to minimize their losses and preserve whatever visage of dignity remained.

The Church of Order, however, possessed absolutely no interest in playing this game. As the victors, they enjoyed a far grander degree of freedom. What they demanded was profit, material gain, and still greater interest.

Yet the true predicament for the Church of Samsara lay in the fact that they could not afford to gamble on whether this move by the Church of Order was merely a negotiating tactic. Even if the other party told you plainly and clearly, *'I am using this exact method to handle you,'* you still lacked the courage to let them simply walk out that door.

Once there was no longer any room for reconciliation between the two sides, the Church of Order might very well wage war once more purely for the sake of its pride.

Furthermore, the disastrous defeat suffered by the Church of Samsara during the "First Day War" had not only cost them multiple sacred grounds, but had also depleted a vast amount of their vital forces. The remaining strength could only suffice to fortify the defenses of Samsara Valley as much as possible; they were utterly incapable of launching a strategic counter-offensive.

Most crucial of all, Clyde's specific responsibility within the Church of Order was the management of foreign warfare.

Allowing him to serve as the leader of this negotiation delegation carried a glaringly obvious message: if terms could not be reached, the war could simply resume immediately.

Gatekeeper Romir stood up and bowed deeply toward Clyde.

"I wish to listen to the demands of Order."

"Ah."

Clyde let out a soft sigh, appearing deeply disappointed by Samsara's capitulation.

It seemed he would genuinely prefer to continue the war rather than face the relentless, repetitive knocking on his door by those eager Knight Commanders.

Clyde spoke: "There will not be a next time."

Gatekeeper Romir nodded submissively. "There will be no next time."

Clyde sat back down, the bishops followed his example, and every priest of Order within the spectator gallery resumed their seats.

Bishop Wolfrun produced a detailed document and began:

"Samsara shall satisfy the following eighteen demands put forth by our side..."

As Wolfrun commenced reading the formal demands of Order, Karen listened with profound attentiveness.

Aside from a few minor details and matters concerning honorary prestige, the core demands were divided into five primary points.

First, the Church of Order would permanently retain one of the sacred grounds belonging to the Church of Samsara, and the geographic location of this particular sacred ground happened to reside precisely within the very waters where the Dark Moon Island was situated.

Second, the Church of Samsara would pay an indemnity of two hundred million Order Coupons to the Church of Order. The first installment of one hundred million was to be cleared within ten days of the treaty taking effect, with the remainder settled in installments over the course of three years.

Third, every three years, the Church of Samsara would dispatch a cohort of one hundred young priests to enter the Church of Order for advanced studies, deepening the communication and mutual trust between the two faiths. The candidates would be decided unilaterally by the Church of Order, and the Church of Samsara must not interfere or obstruct the process.

Fourth, during the Day of the Opening of the Gates of Samsara, which occurred once every decade, the Church of Order would possess twelve qualifying slots to enter the Gates of Samsara for trial training.

Fifth, both parties would amend their respective mythological narratives to reflect that the God of Samsara had once fought alongside and under the leadership of the God of Order during the ancient divine wars.

The weight of the treaty rested primarily upon these five points; the rest consisted merely of diplomatic gestures and face-saving requirements, which did not constitute clauses of substantive implementation.

Regarding these five points, the sacred ground in the local waters mentioned in the first clause had not actually been captured by the Church of Order during the "First Day War." From this alone, one could discern that even before the outbreak of hostilities, the Church of Order had already fully mapped out the exact contents of the post-war negotiations.

Since this territory could be acquired through post-war diplomacy, there had been no need to waste resources attacking it prematurely.

With that sacred ground secured, the Church of Order could project its immense influence directly into these waters, simultaneously neutralizing any potential threat to its ally, Dark Moon Island, while ensuring the island would continue to follow the footsteps of Order with absolute, undivided loyalty.

As for the other sacred grounds that had already been captured, the occupying armies would naturally withdraw and return them to the Church of Samsara. The resources and accumulated wealth within those captured territories had long since been thoroughly plundered anyway. However, because the distances involved were far too vast, it was impossible to be extravagant enough to transport all the cargo via teleportation arrays. Consequently, the colossal mountains of spoils would still be shipped via maritime transport to the various regional branches of the Church of Order.

Everything that ought to be taken had been taken, and everything that ought to be destroyed had been destroyed. Continuing to occupy the physical land held no significant remaining value; on the contrary, it would require constant vigilance against suicide attacks perpetrated by local Samsara believers—a phenomenon that had already manifested in numerous instances.

The second point concerned war reparations. The sum was not entirely outrageous; given the deep heritage and foundations of the Church of Samsara, it was completely within their capacity to bear.

The third point, selecting young individuals to enter the Church of Order for advanced studies, was fundamentally a direct replica of the policy the Church of Order had always enacted toward the Church of Pamireth. Here, it stood as an open strategy. Both sides understood perfectly well what such a arrangement truly signified, but because the candidates were to be selected exclusively by the Church of Order, they could easily choose the most brilliant minds and those from the most illustrious family lineages. Would Samsara truly dare to hide away all their finest talents?

As for the fourth point, the Gates of Samsara opened but once every ten years, allowing the outstanding talents of the contemporary generation to enter for trial trials, with a standard limit of thirty slots per opening. In the past, it was not unprecedented for the Church of Samsara to utilize these coveted slots to cultivate favors with other religious institutions.

The Valley of Samsara was to the Church of Samsara what the Temple of Order was to the Church of Order. It could not be said that everyone who entered the Gates of Samsara for their trials would eventually join the Valley of Samsara as an elder, but every elder within the valley had, in their youth, entered those gates and completed the trial.

The modification of the fifth mythological narrative was a lawful succession. Karen realized once more the sheer importance of a church’s strength and development to the god itself, for if your believers possessed ambition and capability, a god could easily lie back and become the elder brother—or even the father—to other deities.

In other words, if your believers were incompetent, then no matter how awe-inspiring and invincible you might have been as a god during that era, you might later have to fall to your knees and call your defeated rivals brother or father.

The eighteen demands had been fully presented.

Next, the Church of Samsara sent forward another spokesperson, who began to quietly deliberate and revise, clause by clause, according to the outline of demands provided by the Church of Order.

All in all, the negotiations proceeded exceptionally smoothly.

By evening, before the temporary adjournment, the preliminary outline was essentially finalized.

The first point, ceding a sacred land, was accepted by the Church of Samsara, but they demanded that the local Samsara believers be evacuated and that the Church of Order must not impede them.

On the second point, the Church of Samsara was willing to pay an additional fifty million in compensation to exchange for the third point: reducing the number of personnel selected every three years from one hundred to fifty.

The fourth point, concerning the trial slots for the opening of the Gates of Samsara every ten years, sparked a fierce debate between both sides.

The Church of Samsara contended that the twelve slots demanded by the Church of Order were simply far too many.

The Church of Order, however, insisted that the number twelve was their lucky number.

The preliminary agreement finally reached was that for the next opening day of the Gates of Samsara, there would be twelve slots, and thereafter, the number would decrease by one each year until a minimum limit of six slots was reached.

As for the fifth clause, the Church of Samsara agreed to append this mythological narrative, but requested that an additional line be added: the God of Samsara and the God of Order were close comrades-in-arms.

Very well.

Two master gods who had almost no interaction in history had finally become close comrades-in-arms through the tireless efforts of their descendant believers.

In a strict sense, all the demands put forward by the Church of Order were severe and harsh, yet not excessive; they basically fell within the acceptable parameters for the Church of Samsara.

From this, one could see that the Church of Order truly wished to gain benefits through postwar negotiations and had no desire to continue fighting.

From the perspective of diplomatic and wartime costs, continuing the war would undoubtedly result in continuous losses for the Church of Order.

But the problem was that the Church of Samsara itself lacked the capital to continue the war; it could not barter its own destruction for the losses of the Church of Order.

While the destruction of Samsara would certainly incite a shared hatred against the Church of Order across the entire ecclesiastical circle, that would be predicated on Samsara’s demise, and Samsara was unwilling to shoulder such a historical mission.

Observing this day brought Karen great harvest and profound realization.

Within a street, a town, a city, or a nation, individuals might judge and restrain their behavior through law and morality.

Yet when rising to the relations between churches, to continue applying the template of interpersonal interactions and loudly invoke justice, peace, or morality was truly either foolish or malicious.

For among the strata of churches, there was no absolutely powerful entity to exercise supreme restraint and judgment.

Only one's own strength was the true foundation.

Stepping out of the assembly hall, Karen and Memphis fell into formation. Vorfolen took Leon and Laurel into the carriage, and the procession began its return to the courtyard.

Upon entering the courtyard, everyone disbanded, and the day's work was considered complete.

Bishop Vorfolen was not a demanding master. He granted those beneath him immense freedom, usually remaining in his room to read, never stirring up trouble, and rarely bothering to walk outside.

Karen followed his captain back to the room. The captain lay upon the bed, removed his mask, and let out a long sigh, looking thoroughly exhausted.

Seeing this scene, Karen suddenly felt a sinister foreboding in his heart.

"Do not look at me with such eyes. It makes me feel like a criminal you've captured and brought back."

"Captain, today you..."

"How did the meeting go today? Looking at Bishop Vorfolen's expression, progress must have been quite smooth."

"It was smooth, but your diversion of the topic is far too obvious."

"Oh, is it?" Neo smiled. "It isn't as natural as yours. I don't exactly refuse other women on a regular basis."

"Captain, please tell me where you went today during the day, and what happened."

"Don't be so serious. I went to a seafood restaurant during the day, though I didn't order any seafood."

"And then?"

"And then I wandered the streets, took a stroll, walked into the basement of a café, and happened to discover a group of Light Remnants holding a meeting."

"What happened next?"

"Hey, you know what? The Light Remnant sitting next to me was wearing a mask, but I thought he looked a lot like you."

"Like me?"

"Yes, at first I really wondered if you, brat, had secretly slipped out of the assembly hall to tail me here."

"How could that be possible."

"Exactly, your tracking skills were taught by me after all. How could you tail me without being noticed?"

"Captain, that is not the point."

"Fine, fine, fine. The point is that this batch of Light Remnants gathered for the purpose of recruiting volunteers. I believe they definitely have a fixed force, but this time they needed to raise some extra strength.

They originally intended to launch a surprise attack on the Guze Pool, inside of which slept a giant sea turtle, Dorons, which Philias had subdued a century ago. In truth, it counts as a sea beast—a very fierce sea beast that can use spells.

They wanted to awaken Dorons to avenge the Dark Moon clan's past betrayal of the Light, and then use Dorons's power to re-establish a mission house on the outer islands.

Recently, because of hosting this conference, the defensive forces at the Guze Pool are at their lowest in nearly a century, which gave them an opportunity."

"And then?"

"And then I told them, you are a bunch of idiots. Awakening the sleeping Dorons doesn't require going to the Guze Pool; instead, you just need to obtain a contract conch and blow it within a thirty-kilometer radius, and Dorons can be summoned awake.

I also told them that the contract conch was Bernard's burial accompaniment."

"The contract conch?"

"Yes."

"Is this thing something that actually exists and is truly useful, or did you invent it on the spot?"

"It actually exists. How could it be invented?"

"Then how do you know the contract conch is in Bernard's possession, and even serves as his burial accompaniment?"

"That's why, Karen, your powers of observation still need strengthening. Which hotel are we staying in?"

"The Bernard Hotel."

"Exactly. Don't you look at the statues that are everywhere in the hotel? Right at the hotel entrance stands a massive statue commemorating Bernard. At his waist, isn't there a conch tied?"

"Is... there?"

"Then look at this." The captain rose from the bed, reached out, and tapped an oil painting hanging on the room wall. Painted upon it was a man dressed in the aristocratic attire of the Dark Moon Island, a full moon emblem upon his collar. "Look at his waist."

Karen looked closely and discovered that a conch was indeed tied to the waist.

"This..." Karen really had not expected that the answer had been by his side all along, right before his very eyes.

"Essentially, at the waist of every portrait and statue, there is a conch. Since Bernard loved it so much, how do you think his descendants would handle it after his death? If it were some other treasure, they might be reluctant to seal it away, but blowing this conch only summons a sea beast that harbors hatred for the Dark Moon clan. Naturally, sealing it within the ancestral tomb for the deceased ancestor to keep guarding it would be the safest course."

"Captain, what happened after that?"

"After that, I personally drew up a plan for them to attack Bernard's mausoleum!"

"Captain, you promised me that you would only attend the meeting and would not offer them advice."

"Yes, I promised you, and I was wrong."

The captain, completely out of character, suddenly admitted his mistake and reflected on it.

This, instead, left Karen a bit at a loss.

The captain spoke again: "So I have decided to find a way to report this news to the Dark Moon side immediately, so they can prepare and thwart this conspiracy from the Light remnants ahead of time. What do you think?"

"Um..."

"Then it is settled!"

The captain stood up and walked to the door; this scene looked remarkably like Cardinal Creed during the daytime.

"Captain."

"Yes? Do you have something else? Or, are you going to secretly tell Her Highness Ophelia that someone is planning to dig up her family's ancestral grave?"

"Captain, I feel that in this matter, the revenge of the Light remnants is understandable."

"Pfft... hahahaha!"

The captain lost his composure and burst into loud laughter.

He pointed a finger at Karen, wiping away tears as he spoke: "You see, I knew you couldn't keep up the act any longer."

The captain walked back to the edge of the bed, sat down, and continued:

"You told me that Miss Pure shares a symbiotic relationship with you. Fine, I don't intend to probe into how exactly this sort of era-transcending symbiotic relationship was forged, just as I will never understand your grandfather's anguish and his choice to bomb the Temple of Order; either way, it is something that has already happened.

But I can be certain of one thing,

When the beautiful love story from Dark Moon Island reached the Allen Manor, and reached the ears of that Miss Pure—that is, your symbiote.

For your trip this time, she must have begged you for one thing.

And that is:

To scatter Bernard's ashes to the wind."

The captain had guessed correctly.

Neo's expression suddenly turned desolate as he said:

"Do you know how I came to know Bernard?"

"Captain, don't joke around like this so casually."

Just whose identity are you adopting with this "I" tone anyway?

Neo continued: "It was Jennifer who acted as the liaison, introducing me to Bernard."

"Captain..."

"Jennifer once traveled with Miss Pure, and behind them always followed Bernard, who remained wholeheartedly devoted to Miss Pure despite being rejected countless times. Jennifer came to know Bernard at that time, and became something like an adventure partner to him.

Later, Bernard returned to Dark Moon Island to become the clan leader, Miss Pure vanished, and Jennifer began searching for Miss Pure's whereabouts alone. During this process, she met me, and fell in love with me.

It was through her that Bernard came to know me, and together we mapped out a beautiful future where the Light and the Dark Moon would shine radiantly upon this island, heh."

"Captain, if you keep this up, I'm going to stab you with a sword."

"My Jennifer once said to me countless times,

She said,

Miss Pure was her very best friend in this lifetime."