Chapter 329: Abyss Long Song

Chapter 329: The Eternal Hymn of the Abyss

Madame Tangli drew a deep breath and released it slowly. Though she had not yet turned around, her mind’s eye clearly conjured the exact expression written across Madame Felsher’s face at this very moment.

Some people were capable of change. Herself, for instance. Over the passage of so many years, she had relentlessly adapted to her station and her circumstances, learning not just to blend in, but to find pleasure in it.

Yet there were others who remained utterly immutable. Madame Felsher was one of them.

It was not for a lack of desire, but rather a lack of the necessary conditions to change. She was like someone marooned upon a floor carpeted in barbed splinters, where the wounds had long since begun to fester and suppurate, casting off a wretched stench. Agony and torment were her perpetual companions.

And yet, she had grown accustomed to it.

To ask her to rise or even to roll away from that floor would mean her flesh must scrape against other barbs. She was afraid of the pain.

"The things of the past..."

Hearing those words, Madame Felsher cut in, "Are you trying to persuade me to let them go?"

Madame Tangli shook her head gently. "The past has nothing to do with the children."

"The children?" Madame Felsher’s brow furrowed slightly.

Without betraying a hint of her thoughts, Madame Tangli smoothly covered her tracks. "My son inherited my lineage, and because of it, he has been tormented by a curse to this very day. If there had been a choice, I would have wished for him never to touch even a fraction of such misery. When I looked upon your granddaughter, seeing her dazed and sluggish as though she were in a perpetual slumber, I knew instantly. You must have made her childhood exceedingly dark."

"As a descendant of the Felsher family, she bears the mantle of vengeance."

"What mantle?"

"Vengeance!"

"You intend for her to seek vengeance against Dis? Do you honestly believe that is possible?"

A sudden smile broke across Madame Felsher’s face. "But Dis has descendants of his own, too."

"Heh."

Madame Tangli let out a soft laugh. She used the sound to mask the murderous intent that flared violently in her heart the moment she heard that sentence.

Madame Felsher picked up a strawberry from the plate on the table, took a delicate bite, and dropped the remainder carelessly at her feet. Her son immediately thrust his head out from the shadows, devoured the fruit, and went so far as to lick the floor clean.

"I am glad you came to see me. Truly. It brings back the old days, heh," Madame Felsher murmured, laughing to herself once more. "Back then, I really never imagined you would end up with that foolish boy, Delon. In my eyes, aside from the Guman bloodline being somewhat interesting, he was entirely unremarkable in every other aspect. Ah, he was utterly incomparable to Dis."

A woman might curse or mock her own husband as she pleased, but she would never tolerate an outsider doing the same.

Madame Tangli turned around, facing Madame Felsher. Leaning slightly forward, she said:

"Delon is indeed incomparable to Dis."

"See? I knew you understood it well in your heart..."

"But I have always known one thing: I, too, was completely unworthy of Dis."

Madame Felsher’s expression froze. She understood perfectly that these words were aimed directly at her.

Straightening her posture once more, Madame Tangli said, "Why must you persist in living inside your own delusion?"

"You don't understand!" Madame Felsher’s voice suddenly turned sharp and piercing. "You understand nothing of love! You people of the Alter family are nothing more than bloodline parasites!"

"And do you understand it then?"

"I do! Of course I do!"

"If you understood love, why did you go to confess your feelings to Dis back then, when you were clearly already married?"

"Marriage is not love. To bind love with marriage is a desecration of love itself!"

"Do you know why I have never come to find you in all the years since that incident took place? Even though our bond back then was so deep? It is because I realized that you and I are not the same kind of person.

You treat reality as a dream, and within that dream, you care only for yourself. You consider nothing but your own feelings, your own likes and dislikes. You are far too selfish.

Being friends with you offers no sense of security."

Madame Felsher remained entirely unfazed. "I am simply more authentic than any of you. I am not like the rest of you, each one so thoroughly hypocritical."

"Then why don't you guess whether Dis knew the truth of what happened back then?"

Madame Felsher struck dumb.

Madame Tangli pressed on, "It seems you have always known the answer in your heart."

"Even if he knew, what of it? He still couldn't bring himself to kill me. He held a place for me in his heart."

Madame Tangli plucked a whole strawberry from the table, bent down, and offered it to the man beneath the desk. The man opened his mouth, accepted it, and began to chew. After swallowing, he even thrust out his tongue at her in an display of intimacy.

"Have you been happy with your life over these years?"

"What exactly are you trying to say?"

"My meaning is simple. He did not kill you because he felt that executing you would be a form of mercy. It was better to let you live, so that life could continue to torture you."

"You! Are! Lying!"

"Well then, I shall take my leave. I wish you a pleasant life."

Madame Tangli pushed the door open and stepped outside. As she passed through the small wooden gate of the garden, the villa behind her was instantly engulfed by a black mist, vanishing almost entirely from sight.

"Ah."

Madame Tangli let out a weary sigh. Originally, she had merely intercepted the messenger crow her son had sent flying toward Karen.

Driven by a spark of curiosity regarding what her son and grandson were up to, she had followed the trail to take a look. To her surprise, she had discovered a connection to this woman.

Dis,

The last time you came to Wien, why didn't you just kill her while you were at it?

...

Before the gates of a farmstead, Karen and Mr. Eisen stood side by side.

Philomena had brought them to this place, claiming it to be the man's hiding spot. However, because the farmstead was heavily rigged with defensive puppets and she feared the target might flee, she had gone in alone to drag him out.

Karen had agreed.

Mr. Eisen inquired, "Do you truly trust her?"

"Yes." Karen nodded. "I had some contact with her during the selection. Her situation is also a bit unique."

"Also?"

"Oh, no, that's not what I meant."

Mr. Eisen remarked, "I can sense it. Yes. She is like me; there are some issues with her mental state."

"That wasn't my implication."

"There is something I have always been curious about." Mr. Eisen looked at Karen. "I have always felt that you treat me with an excess of respect. It puzzles me, and it makes me rather uneasy."

"Because you are an upright person."

Eisen shook his head at the response, evidently unconvinced by the reasoning.

"She can barely be considered one as well."

"Ah, so that is what the word 'upright' signifies in this context. I understand now. She dislikes lying."

"By the way, there is something I wanted to ask you. Do you have any insights regarding the spell for the messenger crow?"

"Insights? As long as it flies when you fold it, isn’t that enough? Must one also obsess over how beautiful it looks?"

"Mm, you have a point."

"That eagle, I believe it warrants an investigation," Mr. Eisen remarked. "Should I take charge of this matter?"

"There are some complications regarding her background. Do not look into it yourself; I shall handle it personally."

"Very well, I understand."

The eagle’s sudden appearance had instantly altered Philomena’s demeanor, leaving Karen with a faint intuition that the matter might be linked to his own grandmother.

The next time he visited the Guman residence, he could attempt to broach the subject.

Of course, if she wished to speak with him of her own accord, she would either call him over or send Richard to fetch him. After all, Richard’s leg was healing quite rapidly.

"Oh, right. The upper echelons will be making arrangements soon, and I will likely form a new squad for the Whip of Order. I have already spoken with Richard, and he will be joining when the time comes. However, he shares a deep bond with 'Mr. Memphis' and begged me to let 'Memphis' join as well, threatening otherwise not to participate.

What are your thoughts on this?"

Mr. Eisen’s expression turned severe. "He actually dared to use your grace toward him as leverage?"

"That was indeed improper of him. You may educate him thoroughly upon your return. But as for the new squad?"

"May I join?" Mr. Eisen inquired. "What I mean is, would you find it troublesome?"

"Not at all. I hope you will join. You and Richard were originally auxiliary members, so you can simply transition to official status directly under me."

"Very well, I am in. My thanks to you."

"It is nothing."

Karen sensed that his uncle had truly grown fond of the life within the Whip of Order, as well as the feeling of being teammates with his own son.

Just then, Philomena emerged, carrying a stout man by the hand.

Thud!

Philomena dropped the fat man onto the ground.

"Take him back to the pottery workshop and let Lemar examine him. If everything checks out, resolve it according to Lemar’s wishes."

"Understood."

Mr. Eisen stepped forward, lifted the fat man, and after confirming Karen’s nod of approval, took the man and departed first.

Philomena looked at Karen and asked, "Why didn't you leave with him?"

"Though events took an unexpected turn, from my perspective, you helped me resolve a nuisance. I ought to express my gratitude."

One could not condemn Philomena for things that had not transpired, even if she had likely been the "muscle" hired by that fat man earlier.

"Can that pottery workshop create puppets as well?"

"Yes, the craftsmanship is excellent. You can go directly to the shopkeeper, Lemar, to place a custom order. Mention my name for a discount."

"I see." Philomena tilted her head slightly. "Do you know my grandmother?"

"Er, I do not. Nor have I investigated your background."

"Do you wish to?"

"If the opportunity arises in the future, I shall pay a formal visit to your elders," Karen offered politely.

Philomena asked, "Are you busy right now?"

"That depends on what you intend for me to do next."

"I want to take you home to meet my grandmother. She heard about you from me and holds you in high regard."

"My apologies, but I must decline."

Philomena nodded.

Karen continued, "It is nothing personal against you."

"It matters not. My home is hardly a suitable place for a casual visit anyway."

"I meant no offense."

"I am accustomed to it; I will not take it to heart."

With that, Philomena turned and walked away.

Shouldering the Sword of Alius, Karen walked toward his car parked a short distance away. After sitting inside for a few moments, he started the engine and drove home.

...

By the time he reached the funeral parlor, evening had already fallen. To Karen’s slight surprise, however, two unfamiliar vehicles were parked outside the entrance.

Stepping out of the car and into the front lobby, he found three men and two women standing inside. All were dressed in civilian attire, but as he approached, he could discern a familiar professional aura emanating from them.

Upon seeing Karen enter, their expressions softened slightly with emotion.

A woman in her thirties, her face dusted with numerous freckles, walked toward Karen and extended her hand.

"Giotto Squad, Marlena."

Karen shook her hand. "Karen."

"Congratulations, Mr. Karen. You have passed the final selection."

"Thank you. And you all are..."

Karen noticed a stretcher gurney behind them, upon which lay the remains of a man.

Business had actually come knocking?

Karen found it hard to adjust, considering that the family funeral parlor had been closed for a long time ever since they handled old Saman's funeral.

"This is my captain, Giotto." Marlena pointed toward the stretcher.

Karen walked over to the gurney. Lying upon it was a middle-aged... bordering on elderly man. His hair was half-gray, yet his features were sharply defined and his build was imposing. He must have been a robust individual in life.

"We have already consulted with your servant earlier, and he has agreed to hold the funeral for our captain."

This client indeed conformed to the new rule Karen had previously established for the funeral parlor—namely, to conserve manpower, they would only accept business paid for in merit vouchers.

"Very well. Thank you for your trust. We shall conduct a proper funeral for Mr. Giotto."

At that moment, Alfred emerged with a booklet in hand. He first bowed to Karen, then handed the booklet to Marlena, saying:

"We hope you can discuss the options and detailed requirements within this booklet with Mr. Giotto's family. Simply check the boxes or fill in any additional requests, and return it to us before tomorrow evening. After all, preparing the body for the viewing will require some time."

"Very well, I understand. Thank you for your hard work."

Marlena turned back to Karen. "Thank you for your hard work."

Karen immediately replied, "It is our duty."

Marlena raised the booklet in her hand. "Then we shall take our leave. Our captain... we entrust him to you."

"Please rest assured."

Once Marlena and the others had driven away, Alfred called for Pick and Dinkum, instructing them to wheel Mr. Giotto into Mrs. Lake’s workshop, while Karen and Alfred followed close behind.

"Walk-in business?" Karen inquired. "Or was it a referral?"

"They came of their own accord. I had a brief chat with Marlena just now and learned that before his passing, this Mr. Giotto was holding the latest issue of the Order Weekly. Pointing at the section reporting on you, Young Master, he joyfully praised you as the pride of the Whip of Order in the York City district. And then, clutching that very newspaper, he passed away."

Why does this sound a bit strange?

I am sorry, young master. It was a failure of expression on my part. Mr. Giotto was the architect of his own fate. He was wounded and contaminated during a mission, and had spent the last few months undergoing treatment at the cathedral hospital. However, as the contamination worsened, he voluntarily signed a consent form for his own demise. Yesterday was the day he was euthanized.

After wheeling the remains into the workshop, Pike and Dincomb walked out. Karen uncovered the white cloth draped over the corpse and placed his hand upon it to feel. There was no longer any residual spiritual power within the body; it had clearly undergone purification.

Being contaminated during a mission was by no means a rare occurrence. If the matter was not treated in time, or if the degree of contamination ran deep and its nature proved troublesome, it signified that the countdown on the cleric’s life had already begun.

A small minority would find their bodily functions dissolving as the contamination worsened; they were considered the fortunate ones, for they met an absolute end in death.

Yet owing to the inherent nature of a cleric, the worsening of contamination most often did not culminate in death, but rather in a losing of oneself—becoming a new source of pollution, or forfeiting all semblance of reason to manifest as a cruel, feral aberration.

To sign one's own death warrant was not an act of cruelty; rather, it was the desire to avert that final, wretched state, to preserve a shred of dignity for oneself.

His team members believed this to be their captain’s dying wish, and having caught wind that you were employed at the Pavaro Funeral Parlor, they arranged for Mr. Giotto’s funeral to be held here with us.

Very well, I understand.

Under normal circumstances, the corpse of a deceased cleric would be reclaimed by their respective church. Yet because Giotto had perished from contamination, his body would not be retrieved. Nevertheless, following his passing, his remains were purified according to custom, which accounted for the total absence of spiritual power lingering within him.

Such a body no longer possessed any value for reclamation.

Your subordinate will handle the handover of this matter properly. Once the funeral plan is drawn up, it will be presented to you, young master, for your review and inspection.

Good, let us proceed that way for now.

Young master, there is also the matter regarding Teacher Deshan.

Investigated so quickly?

Yes, Teacher Deshan seems to have been in contact with certain new-thought organizations recently, even attending their activities. However, those organizations have nothing to do with the Church.

That is well then.

Your subordinate will continue to keep a close eye on these matters.

Mm, you have worked hard.

...

The Lemar Pottery Gallery, the underground workshop.

A stout man was confined to an upright workbench, bound by additional restrictive seals. He could do nothing but stare with wide eyes, utterly unable to move or utter a sound.

Before his very eyes, Lemar undone the lock on the puppet that housed his sister.

The moment Serena regained her freedom, her first words were:

Brother, Mr. Karen actually came into my room specifically to speak with me and comfort me!

And here I was, worrying that being shut inside for so many days might cause you some psychological distress. It seems Mr. Karen truly is an excellent part-time psychiatrist.

Brother, have you forgotten? I have lived inside various puppets for many years. Being locked in a puppet is no different from you closing the shop doors and staying inside for a few days without going out. How could I possibly develop psychological distress from that?

It is good that there is no distress. Lemar walked over to a small wooden boy-marionette nearby, reaching out to pat its head. The marionette opened its mouth, spitting out a crystal carving knife.

Holding the carving knife, Lemar smiled warmly at the man before him and said, Never expected it, did you? The Yilmaz carving knife, kept right here in such a conspicuous place. For though it is precious to me, in the end, it is merely a tool.

With that, Lemar extended the Yilmaz carving knife toward his sister.

Brother, what are you giving this to me for?

Lemar pointed first at the carving knife, then at the man before them, and said, Serena, today your brother will formally teach you the art of puppetry. We shall use him as the raw material for your very first creation.

Brother, are you certain you are not joking? If we do this, I truly will develop psychological distress.

Then that is perfect. You will have an excellent reason to seek treatment from Mr. Karen.

But I am a puppet, a mere puppet! What business does a puppet have learning the art of puppetry?

Our ancestor, Worth, was himself a puppet.

Brother, have you come down with a fever?

I have not.

If our ancestor Worth was a puppet, then how could we possibly exist?

In the mythological narratives of the Abyss Church’s Long Song of the Abyss, it is recorded: When the God of the Abyss went forth to conquer heaven, he summoned Worth to fashion a puppet of himself, so that the wicked entities of hell would mistakenly believe the God of the Abyss still resided there and would not dare to act rashly.

The lore passed down by word of mouth in our family describes what happened next:

When the deed was done, the God of the Abyss asked our ancestor what reward he desired. Our ancestor replied: May the Great God bestow upon me a single drop of blood.

Historically, the downfall of our family came about because the Church of Light demanded that we craft a puppet for them, a request our family refused. From then on, under the suppression of the Church of Light, the family declined and fractured.

For back then, the Church of Light brought forth a drop of... terrifying blood. Whose do you think it was?

And what, pray tell, was their true purpose?

Brother, you know very well that since I was a child, I have never cared much for these grand mythological narratives and family legends of dubious truth.

Serena, I have always suspected that the one truly best suited to master the art of puppet forging might not be us descendants, but rather... a puppet. What we fashion are tools, but what you and our ancestor fashion are your own kind.

Brother, you know exactly how lazy I am.

Mr. Karen is betrothed.

Brother, why bring that up all of a sudden?

Mr. Karen is a man of principle. He will not be with you. Moreover, given your body, you cannot bear children. Do you not find that a profound tragedy?

Brother, do you not find it cruel to treat a sister who has just emerged from days of solitary confinement this way?

But perhaps, on some day in the future, you might find a fitting pretext to ask Mr. Karen for a drop of blood.

Haha, brother, do you take your sister for a fool, thinking I am so easily hoodwinked? Even if I toil at my studies and truly attain the same heights as our ancestor, the thing you tempt me with could never happen.

After all, Mr. Karen is hardly a god.

Well, there is no helping it then. Alas.

Lemar let out a soft sigh. Just as he was about to draw back the Yilmaz carving knife, he discovered that the hilt had been slipped from his grasp. The one who took the knife was none other than his sister.

Serena let out a sigh of her own,

and said:

Alas, I am too soft-hearted. It pains me terribly to see my brother look so disappointed.

———

There will only be one update today. Long needs to adjust his state; I haven't been able to rest well these past few days. Hugs to you all!