Chapter 482: True Believers of Order

Chapter 482: The True Believer of Order

In the mythical narrative system of the Principle Cult, a saying by Lord Larmerson, one of the earliest believers in the God of Principle and later one of the Eight Sages, is recorded. He said:

"Give me enough samples, and I can unravel the true essence of the world."

The purpose was to discover objective laws from a sufficient number of samples.

Just like the current Karen, he was frequently "mistaken" for that specific individual.

Because he had been mistaken so many times, he had also summarized a few laws.

First, those capable of producing a "mistake" must have an extremely high level, fundamentally being godly existences.

It was not yet known whether Ankara had become a god, but she should at least be like Blaizet—someone who, even if not a god, was extremely close to becoming one.

Because in that era, only gods were barely qualified to have "seen" the God of Order.

Secondly, they could not be complete existences.

The Ankara that appeared on the highest floor of the Ankara Hotel was merely a consciousness triggered from a piece of minced flesh, not even counting as a clone;

Ririelsa within the Gate of Samsara had lost her godhood and reduced to a walking giant corpse; the Goddess of the Dark Moon on the Altar Island was also just a strand of consciousness left behind by the goddess;

Even Blaizet, who was currently above them, was in essence just like these pustules on the hunchbacked youth, a part of himself separated and attached to this youth.

They were not complete, so in terms of perception and thinking, massive limitations would appear.

On this point, Kevin was the best testament, because Kevin would only tremble in fear immediately when Karen displayed the "addictive affliction" that had once appeared on the God of Order, which meant that in daily life, Kevin was always very clear that Karen was not the God of Order.

This frequently occurring misunderstanding was actually quite easy to understand, because the phrase "one must not look directly at God" was not only useful for ordinary people, but it worked the exact same way for gods.

Ririelsa going to paint "The End of Order," angering the God of Order and being suppressed, also belonged to violating the taboo of "one must not look directly at God."

Perhaps in the eyes of ordinary deities, the God of Order they saw still had a face they could not remember clearly.

Or it could be said that gods had long stopped using eyes to see the world; they had richer means to perceive and control the world around them, and their perception of external things had already become another level of modality.

When facing an existence like the God of Order, most of them would choose to revere and retreat, and the occasional ones who dared to disobey were quickly subjected to ruthless suppression from the God of Order.

Therefore, in their cognition, the God of Order was often not a "person," but a "color," a "sound," or a "sign" possessing a specific directivity.

For instance, in that era, when a beam of the most pure light fell, you would subconsciously believe that the God of Light had descended, because only he was worthy of possessing this most pure light.

It was the same logic when Karen used the "Chains of Order." Those existences that had once experienced the aura of the God of Order, under the premise that their own main body was incomplete, would definitely subconsciously believe this was the God of Order upon perceiving this specific aura of order once again.

Blaizet was now terrified in mind; his fear of the God of Order had long been branded into the deepest part of his soul, and added to that was the previous foreshadowing of "Kevin," whose identity during that period was to some extent bound together with the God of Order.

Seeing Kevin first, and then perceiving that special aura of order, was equivalent to a doubled preconceived notion.

The grand ambition of previously possessing incomparable confidence, imagining a new round of rule during the era when the gods did not appear after being guided back from the God Burial Ground, was instantly shattered at this moment.

Back then, when the God Burial Ground was at its peak of strength, the God of Order alone could come in and suppress all discordant voices. Although the current God Burial Ground was still mysterious and retained many heritages, it still could not compare to the period when many elderly, unfallen gods still existed back then.

"It's over... it's over... it's over..."

However, under this state of "total despair," the situation still developed according to its inertia.

Karen could rely on his "mental addiction" acting up to forcefully demand the consciousness of the Goddess of the Dark Moon to issue a prayer to him under that situation, but this kind of thing could not be repeated, and even though Blaizet was already dazed with fear, the command he had previously issued to Gilagon was still taking effect.

That terrifying pillar of lava continued to sweep over here; the crisis, in fact, had not been changed.

The currently mind-shaken Blaizet would soon be able to witness the "God of Order," who was incomparably powerful and invincible in his eyes, melt into dregs under the terrifying lava.

"Listen to my command, I will stay here, all of you transfer!"

Karen let out a roar. Although he relied on his terrifying accumulation of spiritual energy to continuously roast this cluster of pustules, the pressure and pain he himself had endured before and was enduring now had not disappeared either.

Speaking and commanding at this time could naturally not be calm and gentle.

Moreover, he needed to use this method to express his unyielding determination. This was not for himself, but to make his team members feel better in their hearts and more easily persuade themselves when they "abandoned" him.

Karen never thought of himself as a "great" person, and he was also very resistant to making himself "great." He never even flaunted his morality, but instead stubbornly insisted on his "flexible bottom line."

But right now, he had to choose this way.

Stopping at this moment was equivalent to giving up the great situation he had finally created previously. Once both sides ended this stalemate and tug-of-war, the side of the hunchbacked youth, who was already stronger and also held control over Gilagon, would reclaim absolute advantage. In that case, he and his subordinates would not survive either, and the ending would inevitably be death by their hands.

If he did not stop and continued the stalemate, then this massive pustule in front of him would either be roasted to death by him or be destroyed together with him by Gilagon's lava, but his subordinates could live.

This was not a spirit of active sacrifice, but pure commercial logic.

Since he had to die anyway, it was better to leave some people behind, otherwise losing would be too miserable.

What seemed like two choices was actually just one choice, so there was no need to hesitate.

This command from Karen immediately took effect. It was impossible for an excellent team to have situations of "bitter pleading" and "if you don't leave, I won't leave" under these circumstances, because realistic conditions simply did not allow it.

Everyone was shedding tears, but everyone was transferring while crying. After all, they could not let the captain's sacrifice be in vain.

Alfred hoisted up the dying Taffman, looking back at Karen while retreating. No matter the time, he, Alfred, would forever obey the decree from the Young Master, capable of doing so without carrying any emotion.

Bart picked up the injured Philomena, gritted his teeth, and transferred immediately.

Ventura's eyes turned red, yet he still chose to evacuate. If it could be substituted, he would definitely substitute for the captain to sacrifice, but the problem was that he was very clear he could not continue to pin down that terrifying pustule like the captain did.

Marth supported Memphis. Memphis was originally going to transfer along as well, but very quickly he stopped his steps again and pushed Marth away:

"I'm not leaving."

"You..."

Marth immediately looked toward Muri and the others, meaning to quickly knock Memphis unconscious and carry him away.

Muri originally intended to do so, but Alfred spoke up: "Let him stay."

Hearing these words from Alfred, Muri hesitated for a moment, and ultimately hoisted Marth up to transfer.

"Thank you."

Memphis smiled at Alfred.

Alfred nodded at Memphis. He knew Memphis had already recognized Karen. For Mr. Eisen, it was impossible for him to choose to leave Karen behind and transfer.

This was not a question of profit and loss, nor was it a question of whether it would fail Karen's sacrifice, but rather that under this situation, even if Mr. Eisen left alive, the rest of his life would be a terrifying torment.

He had already experienced it once, and absolutely did not want to experience it a second time. Moreover, with the second time happening right before his eyes, the illness would definitely become more severe.

Staying meant death, while transferring away meant a life worse than death, so he chose to die together with Karen.

Standing from the perspective of a husband and a father, he was somewhat irresponsible in doing this, but the problem was that he was a patient, a critically ill patient. A person who had just crawled out of a quagmire, upon seeing the next quagmire appear in front of him, would completely lose any desire to resist again.

Kevin followed Alfred to leave together. Right at this moment, Purr jumped down from Aisly's shoulder.

"Miss Purr!" Aisly cried out in panic.

"Go your way, I'm not leaving!" Without turning her head, Purr continued to run toward Karen.

"Miss Purr." Aisly prepared to catch Purr.

Alfred shouted: "Let her go, she and the Young Master are in a symbiotic relationship!"

If Karen died, then as a party to the symbiotic contract relationship, she would also die along with him, so whether Purr transferred or not made no difference.

Kevin saw Purr running past him, instinctively wanting to stretch out a paw to catch her, but caught nothing.

Looking at Purr's silhouette, Kevin turned right back around:

"Woof!"

Then, Kevin darted after them.

Before he could get very far, Alfred's hand snared him directly by the tail.

Kevin began to thrash, flailing his paws, but Alfred ignored him entirely, dragging the dog away by force while keeping Taafman hoisted over his shoulder.

After his claws spent some time scraping uselessly against the ground, Kevin realized he could not break free from Alfred's grip and gave up, the hard knit of his brow softening slightly.

He felt that if he had simply walked away while watching Purr stay behind, his conscience would never have known peace.

Being hauled away by his tail was something he could accept; if the worst came to the absolute worst, at least he would carry a little less self-reproach whenever he looked back on this day.

The adherents of the Light had also begun their evacuation, though they fled in the exact opposite direction of Alfred and his charge.

Stop this, we are willing to agree to your terms!

Cease this madness, and we will guarantee your safety!

We will not seek retribution!

We can bestow upon you our heritage, we can grant you our secret treasuries!

We can choose you to be the herald and emissary of the Divine Burial Ground!

The collective consciousness within the mass of pustules began to plead with Karen. They had assumed that the stalemate would break the moment Giragon's sweeping torrent of lava reached them, but when they discovered that the young man across from them was acting with utter disregard for his own life, terror finally gripped them.

Yet Karen completely ignored their overtures; in truth, they could hardly offer anything that could genuinely tempt him.

Furthermore, relying on some wretched promise in such a short window of time would be the height of stupidity.

At that moment, Purr plopped down right behind Karen. Because flames were still rippling across his body, she eschewed her usual perch upon his shoulder.

Ah, meow.

Purr stretched herself languidly, bowed her head, and said while toying with her own tail:

I mentioned before that I wanted to design my own funeral once we got back, but I never expected time to run out so soon. To think I would meet my end here, of all places, for no good reason.

Karen spoke up: That is why you ought to watch more movies.

Like Muri does?

Precisely.

Ah, well, alright, but I suppose there will not be another chance. Perhaps that is just how life is, always fond of tossing an accident your way when you least expect it.

If you have more to say, keep speaking. If you do not say it now, you never will. Do not let such a perfectly good atmosphere go to waste.

I cannot be bothered. Besides, when the Radio Sprite writes our memoirs, I am sure it will invent plenty of 'words I said at the time' on my behalf. I have faith in the Sprite's literary faculties.

Fair enough.

Just then, as the scorching heat from the periphery rushed inward, the mass of pustules—still languishing beneath Karen's flames—finally launched its final counterattack, a desperate, parting struggle.

Karen closed his eyes, continuing to channel and pour out the power within his body, keeping the equilibrium precariously balanced.

WE CAN NEGOTIATE!!!

It was the most hysterical shriek to rise from the pustules.

Karen kept his eyes shut, ignoring it completely.

The temperature climbed rapidly and the ground began to liquefy, signaling that the true end was nigh.

Not only Purr, but Karen himself had not anticipated that his life would conclude in such a manner, yet he harbored no real regrets in his heart.

Whir!

Right then, a wind arose, and a tremendous one at that.

The gale swept in a wave of blackness that rapidly coalesced into a foundation. Atop that foundation, structures materialized in sequence; in short, at a speed that defied belief, a towering black fortress manifested on the spot.

This citadel was nearly ten times larger than the Black Prison Fortress Karen usually summoned!

Such velocity, such sheer scale—it immediately brought one person to Karen's mind, someone he still had to address as 'Mentor.'

The colossal fortress stood like a mountain, serving as a shield for the area. When Giragon's pillar of molten lava swept past, it slammed directly into the outer wall of the citadel.

The fortress began to melt rapidly, yet it restored itself with equal speed, locked in a kind of dynamic gridlock.

Fortunately, the pillar of lava eventually moved on, unable to swing back and forth indefinitely. Thus, once it drifted away, though the fortress was heavily cratered and more than half collapsed, it had successfully fulfilled its purpose, preserving this pocket of land that should have been swallowed by the tide of fire.

Mavaryo's figure glided out from the fortress's control chamber, making no sound as he touched down, for his feet hovered just above the earth.

A black vine remained tethered to his hand, acting as the control nexus while the ruined Black Prison Fortress behind him continued its rapid self-repair.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

At that exact moment, the patches of color within the pustules finally hit their limit, bursting one after the other until they dissolved completely into nothingness.

High above, Bleizt of the Ghostly Face, who was still locked in a state of astonishment, only had time to cast one vacant, lingering look downward before he vanished.

Regrettably, this fragment of his soul could not communicate with his exiled true self. Otherwise, he would surely have warned his true body that the God of Order still endured, and that the Divine Burial Ground could not yet return...

The hunched youth dissolved entirely. He and the 'companions' attached to his body perished upon the roasting rack constructed by the Chains of Order.

Thud!

Karen pitched forward, his knees striking the ground, though he quickly braced himself with his hands, panting heavily.

He felt exactly like a gas cylinder that had been emptied once, shaken up, baked in the sun, and then pushed past its absolute limit.

Such a state of exhaustion had become exceedingly rare for him lately, not since the days when he first began practicing mysticism.

Memphis let out a laugh, laughing so loudly that tears and mucus spilled forth, before dissolving into a violent fit of coughing.

Purr walked over to Karen, using her fleshy paw to pat the back of his hand as it pressed against the dirt.

Preparing to die out of nowhere, only to find you can keep living out of nowhere. See, what did I tell you? That is life, meow.

Mavaryo drifted to a halt before Karen, a smile gracing his features: Karen.

Karen swallowed hard, pursed his cracked lips, and lifted his head with great difficulty to call out: Mentor.

Right at that moment, an old, weathered voice drifted over:

Why save him? He ought to have died!

Immediately, Karen felt a powerful hand seize his throat, hoisting his entire body into the air.

In the next breath, an elderly man materialized before his eyes.

You... are...

Theisen sneered: Opportunists should be left to dissolve in the lava. Mavaryo, you should not have saved him.

Mavaryo remained silent, thinking to himself: Then why did you not stop me earlier?

Is it very amusing? Are you quite proud of yourself? To think you didn't die this time either. Are you just waiting to return to your diocese and secure a promotion?

Yes...

Hearing such a blunt response, the corner of Theisen's mouth twitched involuntarily, and he instantly snarled:

A man like you cannot be allowed to return, cannot be allowed a promotion, and cannot be permitted to sit among the high officials of the Holy Church in the future. You will steer the Holy Church entirely toward ruin and depravity.

You deserve... to die!

Clack!

Cullen was dropped, tumbling hard to the ground, as Tycheson raised his palm and lunged it straight toward his face.

Pu'er, Memphis, and the others rushed to intervene, but a barrier of pitch-black darkness materialized around Tycheson, sealing everything out, including Alfred and those who had just rushed back.

Cullen closed his eyes as the wind howled and slashed across his face, stinging sharp against his skin.

Opening his eyes once more, Cullen realized the old man had not struck him, but was instead rolling up the sleeves of his divine robe again.

"Very well, you are already dead."

"Hmm?"

At that moment, Cullen lacked the presence of mind to grasp just how much he was tempting fate with that single murmur of confusion.

Just then, a young man appeared and helped Cullen to his feet.

Wick smiled at Tycheson and said, "I knew you wouldn't have the heart to do it."

Turning his gaze back to Cullen, Wick added, "You are lucky indeed; the moment we set foot on this island, we sensed a dense aura of Order. Had we delayed or arrived a fraction later, you would be gone.

When Lord Tycheson saw how young you were just now, he even marveled at your talent, hahaha! How could he possibly bring himself to kill you, when you are so young!"

"I have already killed him." Tycheson pushed his cuffs up exceedingly high, baring two withered, slender arms of advanced age.

Wick teased, "Where? Where is he?"

"There are many ways to kill a man." Tycheson spoke unhurriedly, his gaze falling upon Cullen once more. "Next, I shall teach him that being an opportunist is a matter of wretched taste, an insult to one's own faith. I want him to see with his own eyes what a true believer of Order actually looks like!"

Mavaryo lowered his head and spoke with earnest solemnity, "Please, do not act on impulse."

Wick’s expression instantly shifted as well. "I can go negotiate, I can act as the representative to smooth things over. My Lord, whatever you do, do not force your way through, your body cannot withstand it!"

"Negotiate? Is there still a need for negotiation now? What I despise most is how the current Holy Church seems to have turned into a mere conference room, signing agreements and covenants everywhere. Look at how many have already died on this island, and think of how many more will perish while you are on your way to negotiate.

I know many within the Church now support the new High Priest, believing we should detach ourselves from the exhausting preservation of Order to pursue our own interests.

You think this is a gain?

No,

I deem it a loss, a monumental loss!

Do you know why the people place their faith in Order?

Order is not meant for remediation and reconstruction.

The reason people believe in Order is that they trust a sound Order can avert the occurrence of suffering."

Tycheson turned, facing the distant three-headed hound Gilagon, facing the sea of fire consuming the island, facing that hillside, and facing that pure white angel. A phantom layer manifested over his body, bearing his exact likeness.

He began to stride forward, and with each step he took, the phantom grew taller and more towering, ultimately shaping into a majestic, imposing figure.

In the next instant,

his voice reverberated out in all directions:

"I say, do they truly think every last one of us from the Holy Church of Order has died out!"