Chapter 282: Rebellious Descendants

Chapter 282: The Rebellious Descendant

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—

Though he felt a deep revulsion toward this mask of Bernard's, for the time being, he had no better alternative.

Smash through the window and choose to flee?

Kallen's current physical condition was far from ideal; the previous punitive and concluding measures against Bernard had drained much of his strength, and while the successful fusion of the Dark Moon Eye had doubled the capacity of his reservoir, the problem was that he now required ample rest to recuperate his energy.

Furthermore, due to the Dolons incident, forces across the Dark Moon Island had been mobilized; though they had returned to their respective nests by now, it was as if they had finished a warm-up, so if he ran now and drew Taffman and his subordinates into a pursuit, it could easily entice other factions to join the fray.

The captain's prior tactic of first causing trouble in the Palace of Remembrance and taking the opportunity to awaken Dolons had caught the multiple factions off guard, a feat that could not be repeated.

Well,

if his sheer hatred for Bernard made him reject the mask, thereby plunging himself into greater peril, wouldn't that just make Bernard die of laughter all over again?

One must not give up eating for fear of choking.

Indeed,

now that you are dead, I shall use your skin and your identity, which in itself is a form of punishment against you.

Yes,

that is exactly it.

When the need arises, one can always find a suitable reason to reconcile with oneself.

Kallen touched the ring and donned Bernard's mask.

He was not the least bit worried about failing to play the role of "Bernard" well.

First, he possessed an exceptionally rich background in wearing masks and playing roles;

second, though this mask was not fashioned from Bernard's actual skin, its efficacy was bound to be superior, for it held a flawlessly vivid imprint of Bernard's image and profile, capturing every detail from top to bottom.

Third and most importantly, the person outside the door, even if he was a descendant of Bernard, had never actually seen Bernard; thus, in terms of sheer familiarity, Kallen was indisputably the more acquainted of the two.

Outside the door, after the previous incident where "Philias" had entered the estate to use the teleportation array, the home that once easily induced relaxation and negligence now failed to provide Taffman with any sense of security, instead making him more vigilant each time he returned.

Particularly this master bedroom.

He had not deliberately arranged any defenses here, nor had he assigned specialized guards; of course, when Dolons had charged toward the town in a fury earlier, even the Palace of Remembrance housing the ancestral remains lacked sufficient guards, let alone this place.

Yet Taffman was deeply fixated on this door; he could even remember the precise thickness of the dust within its cracks.

Before opening the door, he did not know anyone was inside, merely guessing that someone had visited during the island's recent critical hour and had likely already departed.

But the moment he opened the door and beheld the figure standing within, he was instantly stupefied.

Returning home normally to find a thief would fall within the realm of comprehension, but seeing an ancestor who had been dead for over a century standing before you was beyond the capacity of a normal mind to process.

Taffman instinctively assumed the figure before him was an impostor!

Yet the aura radiating from the ancestor was entirely genuine, especially the Dark Moon Eye within the ancestor's gaze; when that look fell upon him, he clearly sensed a pressure emanating from the depths of his bloodline, instilling a primal urge to submit in his heart.

Had it not been for the power of light within his body acting as a pillar of support, he might have already dropped to one knee.

How could this possibly be fake?

Furthermore, there was another point: the ancestor's remains had just vanished, which served as major corroborating evidence.

"Has it quieted down outside?"

"It has..." Taffman's internal state was exceedingly complex.

"I figured as much; Philias and his lot wouldn't have the heart to destroy it. They have always been a group of kind, good people."

"Yes..."

"But he disturbed me, interrupting my slumber."

"You..."

"Do not be afraid. I never truly died; I merely entered a slumber through certain means because I am waiting for that day three years from now. If I succeed, then our Dark Moon Island, our Dark Moon Clan, shall usher in a new era of glory."

"I..."

Even now, though he employed honorifics, Taffman had yet to address the figure before him as his ancestor.

Kallen knew full well that this commander of the Dark Moon Island's offshore fleet was by no means an easy character to dupe.

But it mattered not; he only needed to fool him for the moment. A few more words, and he would find an opportunity to slip away, then strip off the mask, change into his divine robes, and duck into the Bernard Hotel, leaving nothing left to worry about.

"Has our Dark Moon Island become a dog for the Order of Justice now?"

"Yes... yes, it has."

"Heh, this truly is ********"

Upon receiving the confirmation, Kallen unleashed a continuous string of profanities.

These curses were richly imbued with the local flavor of Dark Moon Island, blending perfectly with Bernard's personal aesthetic preferences.

While punishing and torturing Bernard earlier, Bernard had hurled no shortage of abuse at him; he was merely selecting a few choice phrases to employ.

Taffman froze for a moment; the profanities uttered by the "ancestor" before him did not exist in public records, but only within the true diaries of the ancestor, accessible exclusively to successive patriarchs and close high-ranking officials.

Everything, absolutely everything, was remarkably authentic, yet a shred of doubt still lingered in Taffman's heart.

He had not yet realized that the last time he felt this way was indeed the last time;

namely, when he faced the injured and returning Kallen, where the details had been thoroughly comprehensive, yet his heart remained uneasy.

But Taffman had dared to directly test Kallen with words, and had even dared to offer a warning via a riddle, whereas he did not dare attempt such a feat with the figure before him.

Even though the figure before him was also Kallen.

"Forget it, it is not entirely bad. It seems your generations have done well; Dark Moon Island has indeed developed, otherwise it wouldn't even possess the qualifications to be Order's dog."

Taffman was momentarily at a loss for how to respond, though he had spoken these very words to his brother before.

"Restore the Palace of Remembrance to its original state, to let outsiders believe I am still resting within."

"Yes."

"I need to find a new location to resume my slumber. Three years from now, I shall awaken once more, and when that time comes, I shall call upon you to accompany me to that place."

"Yes."

"Send someone outside to secure an ordinary carriage. I wish to depart, and I do not desire anyone to know where I have gone."

"Yes. Please wait in the study for a moment; I shall have the servants prepare it."

"Very well."

Kallen stepped into the study and took a seat behind the desk.

A moment later, Taffman entered, his head slightly bowed, standing in the space between the door and the French window.

Kallen let out a sigh and said, "If it weren't for the limited time of my awakening, I would truly love to take a proper stroll around the island again."

"If one avoids the areas devastated by Dolons, the island today is far more beautiful than it was back then."

"A pity, then. I shall take a proper look during my next awakening."

"I can inform the current patriarch and the next heir to the lineage to come here with the utmost speed. Would you care to grant them an audience?"

"My resurrection is a matter for your ears alone. In truth, had you not possessed some modicum of strength, you would have been a corpse the very first instant you laid eyes upon me."

"Yes, I understand your meaning. Rest assured, sir, not a third soul shall ever know of your return."

Chief Karen of the Vienna clan was manageable enough, but the true predicament lay with Ophelia...

The last time he had worn a veil, she had recognized him in a single, fleeting glance.

Though he wore a flawless mask this time, Karen possessed absolutely no confidence in his ability to deceive her eyes.

If he were recognized, danger aside, it would be thoroughly mortifying.

Moments later, a knock rattled the door, and Taffman walked to the threshold, declaring, "Clear the entire grounds."

"Yes, General."

After a brief interlude, Taffman swung the door open, gesturing with a polite sweep of his hand for Karen to proceed.

Karen rose, stepped out of the study, and descended the stairs.

Every guard in the villa had vanished, leaving only a single carriage in the courtyard, its driver seated upon the box with a blindfold bound tightly over his eyes.

Karen stepped inside and took his seat.

Promptly, the carriage lurched into motion, rolling past the villa gates.

Peering through a narrow sliver in the window curtains, Karen discerned that the carriage was charting a course toward the southern reaches of the town.

Calculating the passing minutes, he reasoned that if Taffman had not dispatched sentries or followed the carriage himself, they had reached a sufficiently safe location to alight.

Even if the man had pursued him, this remained a secure juncture to disembark, for the buildings grew dense here, the population thick, and the streets swam in a chaotic tide of citizens who had only just begun to trickle back after the evacuation—an ideal theater for an escape.

Should the carriage leave the confines of the town for the open country, any chance of a clean break would evaporate.

Taking a deep breath, Karen threw the carriage door open, leapt directly onto the pavement, and plunged like a shadow into the labyrinthine alleys between the houses, weaving through them at a breathless pace.

From Neo, Karen had absorbed far more than just the art of seeking amusement; in truth, the captain possessed myriad qualities well worth studying.

Upon completing a complex sequence of evasive maneuvers, Karen immediately doubled back to retrace his steps, a tactic meant to verify if a tail had attached itself to him, and sure enough, he spotted a man wearing a serpent-headed mask standing in the distance, tracking his every move.

Karen had seen the captain wear a similar visage, yet the figure before him was clearly not his commander.

One hardly needed to guess at his identity; the man had not even bothered to change his garments, merely slapping a mask onto his face, while one of his sleeves hung completely hollow.

Taffman’s disguise was dreadfully half-hearted.

Karen spun on his heel to resume his flight with Taffman pursuing close behind, the two of them engaging in a prolonged game of cat and mouse through this quarter of the town.

Realizing he could not shake the pursuit, Karen finally came to a halt; many of his concealment spells were inconvenient to employ under the circumstances, and relying solely on the Dark Moon Blade to augment his speed was insufficient to outpace this naval general of the Dark Moon Island.

After all, the man before him was capable of fighting the captain to a standstill.

The masked Taffman materialized before Karen.

"Is there something else?" Karen inquired.

"Bernard."

He addressed "himself" directly by name.

A smile touched the corner of Karen’s lips as he gazed upon this rebellious descendant of "his."

"What did you call me?"

"Bernard. Is that not who you are?"

"Heh, indeed I am."

"I believe that many affairs in this world tend to be exceedingly convoluted. Consequently, in most instances, I am accustomed to choosing my allegiance first before pondering my course of action."

"Quite correct."

"Therefore, standing from the perspective of a descendant of the direct lineage of the Dark Moon clan, I deemed my elder brother far better suited to govern the island than myself, and so I relinquished the patriarch's seat to him. Standing from the perspective of the island’s protector, if the remnants of the Light gather in great numbers, they tend to defile our lands and draw the scrutiny of the orthodox church; thus, I would periodically purge their forces, and my hands are stained with much of the Light's blood. However..."

Taffman opened his left palm, and a small puff of white flame bloomed to life, flickering in his grasp. "When Dolons charged toward the town, I sought to obstruct it at any cost. Regrettably, I failed. Dolons originally possessed the power to turn more than half of the Dark Moon Island into a blighted wasteland, yet it chose to stay its hand. Philias even went so far as to personally extract the contamination of the evil spirit from within my flesh."

"So, you intend to assist Philias’s faction in extracting vengeance upon me?"

"I possess no standing to exact vengeance upon you. You were the patriarch then; I can comprehend the choice you made."

"Then what do you mean by this now?"

"I simply feel that you ought to go to a certain place, to offer an apology before their mortal remains."

"You expect me to apologize to them? Have you lost your mind!"

"I am not mad. This is merely the manner in which I have always reasoned. This is a grievance between you and Philias that spans back over a century; you trapped and slaughtered them, and a hundred years later, they returned for their revenge, yet chose to stay their hand. We are indebted to them. Therefore, I ask that you come with me, Monsieur Bernard, to observe a moment of silent tribute for their souls."

"How could I have sired a descendant such as you? Has that evil spirit addled your brain, or have you already been corrupted by Philias!"

"Yes, I suppose that must be it. I have been utterly defiled by the Light. I can no longer bring myself to believe that the Light is merely a means to an end, a mere tool to shatter an enemy vessel like the large-caliber magic crystal cannons aboard my flagship. It seems I was naive after all. I will not raise my hand against you; I require only that you accompany me to that place to offer your silent tribute. After that, you may depart, and no one shall trouble you again."

"I will not offer them an apology!"

"It is I," Taffman

"Yes, it has been defiled."

Cullen was rendered speechless. He had not expected Tuffman to play such a hand against him.

"Your time is limited. I pray you make your choice swiftly."

"I accept."

"Then please return with me to the manor."

Tuffman summoned another carriage. Cullen stepped inside, and Tuffman followed, seating himself across from him.

The carriage rattled along the road, returning once more to that secluded estate.

Yet, waiting at the manor gates was a grand court carriage.

"It is Ophelia. She is the successor of our clan," Tuffman murmured.

Cullen remained silent.

"I shall have her withdraw."

Tuffman descended from the carriage, and within moments, Ophelia’s retinue departed, allowing Cullen’s carriage to pass through the gates and enter the manor.

Once the driver had taken his leave, none remained within the estate save for Tuffman and Cullen. The two men ascended the stairs once more.

As they reached the threshold of the master bedroom, Cullen spoke. "Had you made up your mind sooner, I could have been spared much time."

"Every truth requires an unalterable process of realization. Furthermore, even with a mind made up, the mask had yet to be found."

"You may remove it now."

"No. I cannot bear to face you without it."

"I have only just returned from Snake Island," Cullen remarked. "Is it not possible that I have already paid my respects in silence?"

"Utterly impossible, for you are far too selfish."

Cullen found himself unable to dispute the accuracy of Tuffman's judgment.

Tuffman continued, "Are you pursuing someone—the one who hosts the parasite of Mr. Philias? That is the sole reason I can fathom."

"Indeed, that is so. Yet I failed to catch him," Cullen replied, seizing the opportunity. "I wished for his death, but fortune favored him, and I arrived a step too late."

"Mr. Philias has departed. I can sense it."

"Even so, had it not been for that parasite, my slumber would never have been disturbed. Therefore, he deserves to die."

Tuffman nodded slowly, stepping into the master bedroom. He began once more to adjust the chandelier, preparing to awaken the formation.

As he worked, he spoke. "What path do you believe our Dark Moon Island should tread in the days to come? I mean to ask, should we actively engage with the world outside, or maintain our quiet obscurity?"

How was he supposed to answer that?

It was glaringly obvious that Tuffman was seeking counsel on behalf of his brother regarding the future course of the Dark Moon Island, and truly, there was no oracle more fitting for such a query than "Bernard."

Cullen gave his reply. "A useless hound is fit only to be slaughtered for its meat."

They were already hounds chained to the Church of Order. Cullen did not believe the Dark Moon Island would ever be granted the chance to quietly enrich itself in the shadows, nor was the Church of Order known for such benevolence and mercy.

"I see. I understand. The Patriarch intends for Ophelia, in her capacity as the next heir, to journey to Wien and enter the Church of Order for exchange and cultivation. In accordance with your counsel, I shall give my assent."

Cullen was struck dumb.

This was, in truth, the sending of a royal hostage to ensure the next generation's loyalty to the Church. Ophelia’s journey to Wien had nothing to do with exile; the moment she departed, her succession as the next Patriarch of the Dark Moon Island was absolute. Should anyone dare raise a rival candidate within the island, the Church of Order would inevitably step forth to crush all dissent on her behalf.

But... was it too late to change his answer?

The formation ignited, enveloping both Cullen and Tuffman in a shroud of white light, casting them back onto Snake Island.

The moment Tuffman’s gaze fell upon the fresh inscriptions carved into the stone monument, his expression froze.

"Hey, we are setting sail once more!"

Cullen’s heart similarly seized, for he suddenly realized a fatal oversight he had committed: he had smoked beneath that very monument!

Cigarettes were inherently regional products. The ones he carried in his pockets were bought in York City. Though the tobacco had long burned away, the filters remained, not yet lost to decay.

If a proper investigation were launched, it was entirely feasible to deduce the brand from those filters, thereby tracing the exact regions where such cigarettes circulated.

There were only two members of the Orthodox Churches present on this island. The Samsara Church’s influence within Wien was already scarce and had been thoroughly purged at the outbreak of the war. If a brand of cigarette exclusive to the York City region were discovered here, it would point with near certainty to the fact that the parasite was hidden among the dozen or so delegates of the York City Archdiocese!

When that time came, if the Dark Moon Island investigated on their own—no, their own scrutiny would be a mercy. If they reported it to the Church of Order and let the Church investigate, the consequences...

He and the Captain would have to play rock-paper-scissors to decide who would go blow their own cover.

Tuffman extended his hands, and a burst of Holy Fire erupted, reducing the surrounding weeds and every last cigarette butt to absolute ash.

Then, turning to Cullen, he made a polite gesture of invitation.

"Offer your silent tribute."

Cullen spoke. "You destroyed those cigarette butts intentionally."

This was not Cullen being petty, nor was he merely gloating after getting what he wanted.

He had to act in perfect accordance with the persona of "Bernard."

Tuffman gestured toward the stone monument. "He has already understood the spirit of Mr. Philias and his companions. He will seek no further vengeance upon the Dark Moon Island. This matter should end here; there is no need for further pursuit."

"Were it not for the fact that I must return to my slumber, you would be the first whose office I would strip, before casting you into a dungeon."

"Barring any unforeseen circumstances, by the time you awaken next, I shall be a mere remnant of the Light. You may still do so then."

"Heh."

Cullen bowed his head toward the corpse pit in silent tribute.

Afterward, Tuffman led Cullen into the cavern. The moment they stepped inside, Tuffman’s attention was drawn to a scorched crater upon the ground, yet he remained silent.

Naturally, it was impossible for him to guess what manner of thing had been burned to leave such a mark.

Cullen looked toward the stone coffin holding the remains of Lady Jennifer.

Within his heart, he thought:

"Well, look at that, Lady Jennifer. Who would have thought I would come to visit you again so soon?"

...

The silent tribute came to an end.

Tuffman stood alone by the shore, gesturing that "Bernard" might use the teleportation formation to leave first, while he lingered a while longer.

Cullen felt a strong urge to tell him that he might as well gaze upon the sea a little longer, for the blood of his true ancestors had not yet been fully diluted by the waves.

With that thought, Cullen stepped through the array, returning once more to the master bedroom on the third floor of the manor.

Losing no time, he hurried downstairs, scaled the rear wall of the courtyard to slip outside, and immediately tore off the mask to change his attire.

Upon returning to the hotel, he pushed open the courtyard gate to find Mr. Eisen and Richard sitting by the pond. Seeing Cullen finally return, Mr. Eisen lowered his head and resumed feeding crumbs to the fish, while Richard walked over, lowering his voice.

"The Captain covered for you. No one noticed you were gone."

"Okay."

Karen nodded and walked into his room, finding the captain asleep on the bed; even as he entered, the captain didn't open his eyes.

Tafman had undergone such a monumental change, could the captain be experiencing something similar?

Karen sat down by the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed intently on the captain's face.

At that moment, the captain spoke aloud:

"Praise the Light."

Karen froze for a second.

The captain opened his eyes, turned his head toward Karen with a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and asked:

"Were you startled?"

Karen shook his head.

"I have awakened the final remnant of my memories regarding Philias. It is the most closely guarded family quote passed down to the Philias family from the Mad Pope. Do you want to hear it?"

Karen nodded.

The captain sat up in bed, staring at Karen with absolute seriousness, delivering each word with deliberate weight:

"Can the God of Light truly represent the Light?"

Karen licked his lips.

Curiosity gleamed in the captain's eyes as he asked, "I wonder, did your grandfather leave behind any similar family quotes? To some extent, I feel your grandfather shares a resemblance to the Mad Pope.