Chapter 324: Exhausted God

Chapter 324: A Weary God

An armored soldier approached Karen, saying, "The Commander wishes to see you."

"Very well, please lead the way."

Karen smoothed his divine robes, following the soldier to the base of Ogurev's statue, where Commander Punk sat sipping coffee.

His posture was grand and unconstrained, contrasting sharply with the tiny coffee cup cradled in his hands—a scene far better suited for a flask of wine.

"Commander."

Karen placed his hands over his chest, bowing halfway to Punk.

"Sit."

"Yes, Commander."

As Karen took his seat nearby, Punk poured a cup of coffee for him.

"You have done quite well. Would you have any interest in remaining at the Ogurev Fortress to train?"

Karen had not anticipated such directness from the Commander, so he immediately adjusted his manner of speech to match, responding with equal candor:

"I am deeply sorry, Commander, but I am still young..."

"Ah, so you find the desolation here unbearable?"

"It is because I have a fiancée."

"Hahaha."

Punk burst into laughter, saying, "Think nothing of it, I merely asked in passing. In truth, this place is rather remarkable; if you can accustom yourself to it, you will find its beauty. Many of the trivial entanglements of the real world simply do not exist here."

"I believe you have experienced it all and seen through it, Commander. Perhaps in the future, when I too have lived through and seen through the world, I shall return here to share a coffee with you."

"I, too, must depart," Punk said, looking toward Karen. "The beauty of this place shall no longer belong to me."

For a moment, Karen was unsure whether to offer congratulations or condolences.

"Such is life. It is precisely because one knows the disruptions of the outside world, and knows they are ultimately unavoidable, that one can appreciate the beauty within this void. You are exceptional—the kind of exceptional that is visible to the naked eye. By that, I mean you have understood what must be done long before reaching the age to naturally know it. Therefore, you must protect yourself well."

"Commander, I have always been prudent."

"Mmh, protect yourself, grow slowly, and in a few decades, there will be a seat belonging to you among the high ranks of the Holy Church."

"Thank you for your guidance and blessings, Commander."

"Very well, finish your coffee and go. The open day of Ogurev Fortress is drawing to a close."

Karen raised his cup and drained the coffee in a single swallow. No sugar had been added, leaving it intensely bitter, though Karen could tolerate this far better than a cloying sweetness, which he found difficult to accept.

Bidding farewell to Punk, Karen returned to the square. Along the way, many people took the initiative to greet him, and he responded to each one.

Karen was not overly enthusiastic, merely exceedingly polite.

Just as the bald-headed Kane had observed before, it was a perfectly measured perfunctoriness.

Yet no one took offense because of it; they approached not for Karen’s "warmth" or the weight of his name, but out of respect for the sheer strength he had displayed.

The greater one's personal capability, the more one can distance oneself from the anxieties born of pointless socializing.

Mars and Blanche had already finished saying their goodbyes to their teammates, and they stood together before Karen upon his return.

"Captain, we shall head back first. Thank you. Without you, I do not believe I could have secured this spot."

Having spoken, Mars saluted Karen with the exact same gesture Karen had used with Punk, signifying that he viewed Karen not as a peer, but as a superior.

Blanche spoke up, saying, "Captain, I cannot wait to return home and boast to my friends about today’s experience. Thank you truly, Captain."

Karen offered a gentle smile and said, "There is no need for such formality. This was the fruit of our entire squad's collective efforts. Without the addition of you two, our path would not have been so smooth."

Under the condition that he could not utilize the Dark Moon Blade or the Sea God's Armor, and with the advancement of the entire squad as the objective—setting aside the final factor of Loya's appearance—the difficulty of obtaining these spots would have at least doubled without the support of these two auxiliaries.

The gap between them and Kane’s Seventh Squad previously lay precisely in the quality of their auxiliary support.

Karen added, "We shall gather again before long. It seems that prior to journeying to the Gate of Samsara, we must assemble in the Dingge Archdiocese for specific training. When that time comes, we shall find a place to drink tea and converse."

"Understood, Captain."

After parting ways with Mars and Blanche, Karen led Bart, Iceley, and Ventura toward the teleportation array inside the Ogurev Grand Hall.

Within the array leading back to the York City Archdiocese, Philomena was already standing and waiting. She stood alone in a corner, her expression weary from the severity of her injuries.

She did not approach to greet Karen, and Karen naturally felt no inclination to initiate conversation with her. Though they hailed from the same archdiocese, they were clearly not walking the same path.

Furthermore, because of her existence, the cohesion on Karen’s side had actually been greatly fortified.

Because Bart and the other two knew Philomena's strength, and during the selection, they had witnessed her single-handedly carrying her leftover squad almost to the very end.

Yet such a powerful peer had ultimately failed to secure a spot, while they themselves had obtained the final victory.

All of this had to be credited to their captain's leadership.

Large circles require faith as a cohesive force, while small circles are far simpler; to put it plainly: follow you, and there is meat to eat.

Aside from Iceley, who intentionally offered Philomena a reserved smile to derive a small sense of satisfaction, Bart and Ventura followed Karen's example, acting as though Philomena did not exist.

The victors always wished to maintain a certain poise; this was not out of sympathy for the loser, but rather to elevate their own sense of triumph.

All five stepped into the formation, and the array activated.

Returning to the York City Archdiocese.

...

Inside the conference hall of the York City Archdiocese Academic Affairs Building, cheers erupted the moment the final results were announced.

This sort of grand selection based on quotas from each archdiocese was, in form, infinitely close to a joint athletic meet held between nations. Their own contestants had achieved final victory—and a stable, composed victory at that—which was enough to bring immense satisfaction and a sense of honor to the upper and lower echelons of the archdiocese.

Of course, those qualified to view the projection of this selection were few.

Within the York City Archdiocese, only the individuals in this conference hall possessed the clearance to watch, while the lower-ranking clergymen could only receive news of the results.

And at the very beginning, the conference hall had actually been occupied by a mere handful of people.

By the end of the first round, the crowd had grown slightly; after the second round, it increased further; and by the time they entered the final round with only four squads remaining and a fifty percent probability of success, the room was completely packed.

Quite a few bishops, who had previously felt dissatisfied with Karen's high profile during his interview and believed that the young always loved to boast only to make fools of themselves in the end, now forgot their prior criticisms of Karen and clapped and cheered instead.

There was another highly stirring detail to all this: the Third Squad to which Karen belonged, much like the First Squad, was a foundation composed primarily of contestants from their own archdiocese, so everyone felt an exceptionally high level of personal investment.

Had the five representatives from their archdiocese been scattered across five different squads, the level of excitement would have been considerably diminished.

Bishop Bern sat silently by himself in a corner, smoking a cigar—not a precious cigar purchased with points, but a cheap, white-labeled brand circulating on the open market.

"Why do you not look particularly excited?" Bishop Wolfrun asked, walking over to stand before Bishop Bern.

"What is there for me to be excited about?" Bishop Bern smiled. "Is it possible the higher-ups will permit me to select young talents from this batch to cultivate?"

Bishop Wolfrun actually possessed a vague understanding of the work carried out by this shadow bishop beneath his own sequence, so upon hearing this, he merely gave a dry laugh.

Selecting these exceptional young people to act as undercover agents?

Dream on!

Bishop Bern blew a ring of smoke and remarked, "Though there is one who is not out of the question. Philomena, the sole loser. Using that as a theme, we could fashion an image of an outstanding youth marginalized by our Church; this is something we can exploit."

"Banish that thought from your mind; it is entirely impossible."

"Hmm? Who are her guardians? I retrieved her files, but they were a bit too brief."

"She is the granddaughter of that mad lady."

"Hiss..."

Even for a spymaster like Bishop Bourne, hearing that identity made him draw in a sharp breath.

Many years ago, that mad lady had been a bishop of the York City diocese. Her husband, too, was a diocesan bishop. Her husband’s father—her father-in-law—had been the Chief Bishop of the York City diocese, holding the very position Wofulun occupied now.

Back then, that family was the undisputed premier clan of the Church of Order in the York City diocese.

Later, due to a sudden catastrophe, that lady killed her husband, her father-in-law, and her own son with her own hands. A top-tier local church family that had once reached the pinnacle of power in York City, on the verge of stepping into the Holy See's central circle, collapsed in a single night.

That happened decades ago, shocking the entire York City diocese—no, it shook the entire Church.

There were all kinds of rumors about the incident. Some said the Chief Bishop had dabbled in a forbidden art, leading to the corruption of the whole family; others claimed he was preparing to rebel against the Church of Order to found a new sect; still others whispered it was due to domestic, emotional strife...

The matter remained an eternal mystery.

When it occurred, Bishop Bourne was merely an inquisitor, far removed from events of that level. Even now, having attained his current position, he found himself still unable to access it. All records regarding the matter were sealed at the highest level of confidentiality, accessible only to the High Priest and, of course, the Temple Elders.

The only certain fact was that the woman, later dubbed the mad lady, was still alive and residing within the York City diocese. But as to where exactly she lived, no one knew.

Bishop Bourne looked at Wofulun, smiled, and said, "Thank you for the warning."

Well, if that mad lady were to find out he intended to recruit her granddaughter as a spy, the consequences would be terrifying to even contemplate.

"Cullen is a very fine young man," Bishop Wofulun remarked. "I now feel it is only natural that the princess of Dark Moon Island looked down on my grandson."

His own grandson had failed to even pass the diocesan selection, while Cullen had led the diocese's team all the way to the end. The gap was starkly clear.

"Yes, a very fine boy. My son speaks highly of him as well." Bishop Bourne tapped his own forehead. "Talented youths, I have seen many. Youths with worldly wisdom, I have also seen many. But a youth possessing both talent and worldly wisdom means he is truly intelligent."

"Though you phrase it rather tortuously, I take your meaning. By the way, just moments ago, the Holy See issued two spiritual directives. First, a similar selection event will be held next year following this precedent. However, age limits will be enforced, and those who have already participated will not be permitted to enter again."

"Then your grandson has no chance," Bishop Bourne teased.

"I lack the shamelessness to send Leon a second time anyway. It wouldn't be honorable even if he made it to the end, and if he failed to pass again, his face would be thoroughly dragged through the gutter."

"It seems you possess excellent self-awareness regarding your family's lineage."

Wofulun rolled his eyes at Bourne and continued:

"The second directive indicates that the higher-ups intend to reform the assignment system for the youth. This area is bound to touch many people's benefits."

"Let us see the determination of the authorities."

"Mm, my thoughts exactly. However, the specific implementation method provided is to place a batch of young people into a new environment for tempering, allowing them to expand their exposure and understanding."

"Was it written so explicitly in the document?"

"It was."

"Then I suspect the headquarters of the [Whip of Order] will soon issue a directive as well. The Whip of Order is like a sauce vat; you can throw any ingredient into it and draw it out when needed. From a compromising standpoint, nothing is more suitable than entering the Whip of Order. This advances the process without overly provoking the veterans within the system."

"Yes, I suspect that is the arrangement. It is about time; we should prepare to welcome the children back. A banquet will be held tonight to celebrate their return."

"The children are exhausted; what they truly need right now is rest."

"I have already contacted the church hospital to send staff for their treatment and examination. They still have half a day to rest in their suites at the Ankara Hotel."

"They are going to dislike you intensely."

"Do you think the banquet is being held for them? It is held for their parents."

"True enough."

...

Stepping out of the teleportation array, Cullen beheld a welcoming party led by Chief Bishop Wofulun.

At the sight, the expressions of Cullen and his companions dimmed, for they guessed what trials awaited them next.

Perhaps before the selection, they had fantasized about returning to a welcome of praise after successfully securing their spots, but now, they only wished to find a place to sleep for three days and three nights.

Philomena walked away silently by herself; this welcome and celebration had nothing to do with her.

Chief Bishop Wofulun presided over the triumphal ceremony, delivered a speech, and then led a group of diocesan bishops over to shake hands, pat shoulders, and offer words of encouragement to Cullen and the others.

Next, reporters from the *Order Weekly* arrived to take photographs and conduct interviews. Mei Liye was thrilled, as Cullen’s pre-departure interview combined with the current result was enough to occupy the front page.

Once these procedures concluded, two VIP vehicles arrived. Cullen and his companions boarded them, where the director of the church hospital personally examined their physical conditions and commenced treatment right inside the vehicle.

Cullen’s physical and mental state proved excellent, much to the surprise of the examining director, who joked:

"It looks as though you have returned from a vacation."

Nevertheless, though treatment was unnecessary, the director still administered a spell-based conditioning session. The sensation was exceedingly comfortable, akin to a massage for the soul.

Upon arriving at the Ankara Hotel, everyone was shown to their rooms. Cullen was thoroughly familiar with this place and its accommodations. Entering his room, he first used the telephone to order a meal, requesting cigarettes, alcohol, coffee, and tea packets as well.

He was not hungry now; he intended to pack the meal to take home, letting his family taste delicacies made from voucher-bought ingredients, especially the roast lizard-dragon meat that his captain loved most.

As the protagonist of the evening banquet, he would have no opportunity to conceal food there.

The cigarettes, alcohol, and coffee were genuine luxuries that could only be purchased with vouchers, and Cullen intended to bring those home as well.

This was a habit cultivated during his previous security missions, and he did not believe the hotel would ask him to settle the bill this time; it would surely be reimbursed.

In truth, Cullen did not lack these vouchers. Even if he could not enjoy such luxury every meal, indulging once or twice a month was entirely feasible. Yet, under reasonable pretexts, taking advantage of public expense brought its own sort of joy.

He showered, changed into the hotel bathrobe, and lay upon the bed.

The bed was large. Looking at the space beside him, he found himself lying there alone. Deprived of Pei Ge and Fanni, a great sense of fulfillment was absent.

Closing his eyes, he slept.

Awakened in the evening, Cullen changed into a clean divine robe and proceeded to the banquet hall.

Aisli, Bart, and Ventura stood at the entrance, deliberately waiting for him.

As Cullen walked in, they followed close behind him.

Instantly, the entire hall erupted into applause and cheers.

Cullen waved and bowed to the surroundings, and behind him, Bart and the others mirrored his actions, though their movements appeared somewhat uncomfortable and stiff.

Beholding this scene, Cullen could not help but lament inwardly: *It truly feels like an Olympic champion's triumphant return.*

Bart’s parents, Aisli’s parents, and Ventura’s grandparents were all present. As the captain, Cullen had to go and greet each of them.

During the banquet, many dignitaries of the York City diocese spoke with Cullen, and he handled them one by one.

Finally, Cullen was requested to take the stage and deliver a speech.

Standing upon the stage before the microphone, Cullen raised his wine glass high with his left hand, tapped his chest with his right hand, and shouted:

"Glory belongs to York City!"

Though he was a native of Ruilan.

Below the stage, cheers erupted once more.

With great effort, he finally endured until the banquet's end. Karen returned to his room, gathered his packed belongings, and walked out of the hotel; he had no intention of staying the night, for he was going back.

By the side of the highway not far from the hotel entrance, a hearse sat parked.

At this particular hour, the hearse appeared remarkably conspicuous, yet entirely fitting for the atmosphere.

Uncle Mason had always said that a hearse possessed a unique kind of beauty.

Karen perceived it now, because he was utterly exhausted.

Alfred stepped down to take the things from Karen's hands, stowing them away in the vehicle, before returning to the driver's seat. As he started the engine, he turned his head toward Karen in the passenger seat and said:

"Young Master, congratulations!"

Karen nodded, responding with utmost sincerity:

"Alfred, thank you."

This solemn expression of gratitude left Alfred somewhat bewildered, but it was immediately followed by a rising, inexplicable sense of conviction and validation, so much so that even the hearse's radio began to emit a sharp static crackle at that very moment.

"Young Master, would you like a glass of ice water? I brought a thermos with ice cubes inside."

"Yes, please."

Alfred opened the car door and stepped out. As he walked toward the rear carriage, he naturally pulled a small booklet from his breast pocket, drew his fountain pen, bit off the cap with his teeth, and wrote:

"Tonight, God is weary, yet radiant."