Chapter 484: I Disgraced Grandfather

Chapter 484: I Have Disgraced My Grandfather

Vic shrugged and implored:

"I understand, I will not bring shame upon my teacher, so could you please rest for a moment now?

In any case, you must at least preserve enough strength to write a final testament; it cannot be too brief. At the beginning, you might reminisce about your life, and in the middle, you can offer some suggestions to the Church, but you must reserve the most conspicuous spot at the very end for me. I believe most who read your testament will skip the beginning and the middle, looking only at the conclusion.

Furthermore, a mere oral statement will not suffice; those high-and-mighty figures are thick-skinned enough to act as though they heard nothing. You see, how long has it been since my teacher vanished, and yet they already dare to treat me this way."

Supported by Alfred, Cullen wore a somewhat solemn expression.

The colossal silhouette of Thyessan began to dissipate, until at last, only an old man remained, walking slowly forward. He was wounded, his body severely overtaxed, yet his face bore a flush of color, and his spirit appeared remarkably vibrant.

Mavaglio landed by his side and spoke, "I have just contacted the Church through a temporary communication array constructed with the [Scythe of War]."

"Yes, thank you for your hard work, My Lord. Your exertion this time must have been immense as well; I hope it will not bring any irreversible consequences to your future development."

Hearing this, Mavaglio gave a bitter smile, "I am your direct junior."

"When Lord Marchettini chose you, you ceased to be so, and I am no longer... worthy."

Cullen and his subordinates bowed together to Thyessan:

"Greetings, My Lord."

"Greetings, My Lord."

Cullen gently pushed away Alfred, who was supporting him; though his body swayed slightly, he insisted on paying his respects:

"Greetings, My Lord."

Thyessan ignored Cullen, just as he ignored everyone else; in his eyes, this entire observation group, from top to bottom, consisted of nothing but opportunists.

After all, the composition of this observation group was largely made up of those with powerful family backgrounds. Outsiders remained unaware that this observation journey had been decided directly by Neo and Cullen, while the others merely followed orders; they would only perceive it as a collective political gamble by a cabal of families.

Thyessan walked up to Vic and reached out to adjust his collar.

This action so startled Vic that he raised his hands in defense:

"Are you truly about to depart? I am really quite unaccustomed to you suddenly becoming so tender."

"Your teacher spoke to me about you; he said you were the greatest pride of his life."

"This... this... how could I deserve such praise?" Vic breathed a long sigh of relief, his eyes growing red. "Ah, I truly did not realize my teacher held me in such high regard."

Thyessan continued, "He also said that even if he were gone, you would still be able to forge your own path."

"I will, I will," Vic wiped away his tears. "So you must help me, at least to set me upon that path first."

Thyessan said, "I asked him if he wanted me to give you a hand."

A look of pleasant surprise crossed Vic's face, "I knew it! My teacher must have left instructions with you for me before he vanished. My good teacher, the most revered person in my life."

"He said there was no need, and told me not to meddle in affairs that do not concern me."

Vic: "..."

"I am tired; I wish to rest a while." Thyessan turned his gaze toward the Cerberus, Gilagon, which still lay prostrate there. "I hope it will not run amok again."

"You..."

Thyessan glared at Vic and said, "I can hold out a bit longer, not to the point where I would simply pass away in my sleep. I must wait for the people from the Church to arrive; I still have some words to say to them."

At that moment, Mavaglio spoke up, "A pirate fleet is approaching."

Everyone went on alert, preparing for battle.

Even Vic drew forth a book with a metallic cover, upon which waves of dense spiritual power ebbed and flowed.

The pirates halted at the perimeter, and a carriage drove forward, coming to a stop a great distance away.

Miris stepped down from the carriage. He had changed into a fresh set of clothes, his hair was damp, and after walking forward with the aid of his cane, he flung the cane aside from afar and continued to stagger forward, falling to his knees with a thud.

He had just taken a bath, knowing there would be no time for a funeral, so he could only tidy himself up to ensure he might depart with some dignity.

He reached into his robe, retrieved a scroll, and unrolled it upon the ground; names were inscribed upon it.

Then, leaning forward until his palms and forehead touched the earth, he spoke:

"Miris Castle, the current patriarch of the Castle Family of Fire Island, comes to submit to the law."

Thyessan looked at him expressionlessly, saying nothing.

Miris continued, "Do you require a place to rest at present? The Castle Family is willing to provide a sanctuary for you to await the arrival of the forces of the Church of Order. During this period, the Castle Family will protect the safety of you and those around you at all costs."

"Heh," Thyessan let out a dry laugh.

Miris continued, "I have already commanded my trusted subordinates to kill my sons, daughters, and grandchildren. My instruction is for them to take poison, so that their corpses may be preserved as intact as possible to be surrendered to the Church of Order.

By dawn tomorrow, you should see the remains of these sinners neatly arranged there.

This is the registry of my family.

As for myself, in order to keep the family in check and ensure your safety, I must die a little later as patriarch. Once the forces of the Church of Order reach Fire Island, I shall immediately choose suicide.

This is the poison I have prepared for myself."

Miris placed a small red vial upon the ground.

Thyessan finally spoke, asking, "You recognize me?"

Miris replied, "I have seen your portrait through other channels, and so I knew your identity."

Because he knew the identity... Miris was well aware that the Church of Order could not possibly ignore this matter.

This man's status... already concerned the true dignity of the Church of Order.

Fire Island and the Lomalford Pirate Alliance upon it might seem capable of summoning the winds and commanding the rain across these waters, but compared to the Church of Order, they were a mere ant.

The only reason the ant could skip about before—even showing little fear when fighting the Dark Moon Island fleet supported by Order—was because the Church of Order could not be bothered to crush every single ant.

No matter the endeavor, a return on investment had to be considered.

Yet once this figure revealed himself, things became entirely different; even across a thousand mountains and ten thousand rivers, the Church of Order would come to crush these "sinners" of Fire Island.

Even a grand orthodox church like Samsara had lasted only a single day before surrendering in the face of Order's strike; what sort of creatures were this pack of pirates on Fire Island to think they could compare?

Thyessan lowered his eyelids and asked, "Do you have a request?"

Miris immediately said in a trembling voice, "I dare not make a request, nor do I dare to plead; there is only one matter I must report. It is that my sons were somewhat undisciplined and sired several illegitimate children abroad; their names have also been written by my hand upon this list."

Thyessan waved his hand and said, "It will be investigated. If it is confirmed they do not bear the name Castle and have received no privileges from the Castle family, they shall not be counted."

Miris wept tears of profound gratitude:

"I thank you for your benevolence, and praise the Great God of Order."

...

This was a detached estate on the edge of Fire Island, currently under strict guard. The fleet of the Castle family had also deployed nearby. Of the three commanders, one was brought down in bonds while the other two walked down of their own accord. Upon entering the courtyard of the estate, the bound commander's jaws were forced apart to pour the poison down, while the other two swallowed the poison themselves, all dying within the courtyard.

Thereafter, every hour, men and women were either brought or came forward willingly to take poison, ending their own lives or being executed by poison.

Miris stood at the courtyard gate, receiving each member of his family, his face betraying neither grief nor joy.

Beneath the estate lay an ice cellar. The weather of Fire Island was naturally hot and humid, and after the destruction wrought by Gilagon, the temperature had risen even higher; thus, the corpses of those who committed suicide were transferred into the ice cellar to prevent decomposition, ensuring they could be delivered to the Church of Order in the best possible state.

By the third-floor window, Mavaglio watched the scene in the courtyard, his mind drifting slightly.

Beside him, Thaysen sat in a wheelchair, having just woken from his slumber.

"This family head is rather intriguing," Mavallo could not help but remark.

Thaysen spoke dismissively, "One must accept defeat gracefully; it is merely a bit of gambler's etiquette."

"I am somewhat surprised."

"Does your memory hold no similar images?"

"In my memory, there are no related traces. Perhaps it is because the inheritance I received from Lord Marchettini is still far too little."

"Do not rely overmuch on inheritances."

"Yes."

"Yet these words, I cannot speak too clearly." Thaysen raised his head to look at Mavallo. "But I can also see that the inheritance Lord Marchettini gave you is very clean."

"Yes."

"Cherish it well."

"I understand... Grandfather."

Thaysen nodded and asked, "When will the people from the Church arrive?"

"In three days. The members of the Castle family have provided all the materials. I will organize and arrange to spend one day setting up a simple long-distance teleportation array, allowing the Holy Church to first send over a batch of array masters carrying materials; then take another two days, and we should just barely be able to construct an array capable of transporting multiple people back and forth. Although its lifespan will not be long, it will suffice for this occasion."

"Mhm, three days. I can still hold out until then."

"Do you intend to die here?"

"What difference does it make where one dies?" Thaysen spread his hands. "In any case, my remains will be sent into the First Knight Order. Ah, I really feel a bit embarrassed. After all, I am not skilled at fighting; occupying a spot is tantamount to wasting a resource, which leaves me somewhat guilt-ridden."

Mavallo spoke up, "In my memory, Lord Marchettini once designed a war weapon that could be integrated into the body, requiring a relatively powerful person to steer it, and then detonate upon reaching a specific location. I imagine after all these years, the Holy Church must have made immense improvements to it."

"Oh, that is fine then. I can still be of some use; what I fear most is being useless."

"You must not say such things."

"Old, I am truly old. In truth, even if it were not for this matter on Fire Island, I would not have long to live."

"You have contributed far too much of your energy to the development of the Holy Church."

"Only to end up as the target of a purging to make way for others?" Thaysen smiled faintly. "The policy guidelines I supported and promoted have, in the end, been completely overturned. The path I adhered to for my entire life has also become utterly meaningless."

"Do you hate the Grand Priest?"

"Which one?"

"Both."

"Rasma and I have always been friends. Although there were areas where I disagreed with him, we could cooperate. He was willing to listen. I can only say that his final disappearance must have been due to a tremendous blow... or inspiration."

"What about Grand Priest Norton?"

"Between the two of us, time will prove who was ultimately right. For now, I dearly hope that I was the one in the wrong."

"Do you think he will come? To Fire Island."

"He will. He will not want to bear the reputation of driving me to my death. He does not wish for a mortal struggle with us, the so-called... conservatives and fundamentalists. This brings no benefit to him; it would only worsen the internal fracturing of the Holy Church."

"Then the Grand Priest will arrive with the first batch the day after tomorrow?"

"No, he will wait until three days have passed and the array is officially set up before coming over. Because he knows that I will desperately hold on until he arrives before drawing my last breath.

We have our differences regarding the path of the Holy Church, but he knows full well in his heart that I am willing to contribute everything to the Church. I will wait for him to arrive at my sickbed, cooperating with him to achieve a reconciliation, all to heal the factional rift."

"So exhausting," Mavallo lamented. "I can sense that Lord Marchettini would have been quite averse to matters of this nature."

"It is very exhausting. Being a crew member is easy, as one only needs to fulfill their duties according to instructions. But sometimes, fate will thrust you before the control console, demanding that you turn the wheel.

When it reaches that point, what drives you to place your hands upon it is not a desire for power, but because you will not permit yourself to shrink back. Cough, cough..."

"You should rest a bit more."

"No, because in a while, I shall have far too much time to rest."

...

Alfred poured a glass of water, gently placing it by the young master’s bedside. Upon his return, the young master lying in bed had fallen into a semi-comatose state, his forehead now drenched in beads of sweat.

The recovery period after overexertion was often the most agonizing, a fact Alfred knew all too well.

If the young master had not gritted his teeth and persevered at the very end, they would never have lasted until Lord Thaysen’s rescue.

Alfred picked up a wrung-out wet towel, gently wiping away the sweat for the young master, whose brow was tightly furrowed, as though locked in a nightmare, or perhaps caught in a whirlpool of internal turmoil.

Ever since Lord Thaysen appeared, a change had come over the young master.

Alfred picked up his own notebook, intending to write something down, yet he found himself at a loss for words. In the end, he could only write:

"Perhaps, right now I am just as lost as the young master."

...

The vehicle was swaying rhythmically. Outside lay the night-shrouded streets, carrying a slightly dusty sense of familiarity.

Inside the hearse, Karen sat on one side. The one driving was Alfred, who was playing music.

Karen saw a pair of feet at the opposite seat where a person was sitting, but he did not raise his head to look. He could only turn his head to look at the driver's seat time and again to alleviate the current oppressiveness.

He desperately wanted to tell Alfred to change the tune, as the current one was ill-suited for such cheerfulness.

He wanted to speak, he wanted to liven up the atmosphere, he wanted to escape this suffocating weight.

Yet several times the words reached his lips but remained unspoken, for he felt this was a far too spurious form of evasion—or perhaps, he feared even more that once those words were uttered, there would truly be nothing left to say.

Only, when Karen habitually looked toward the driver's seat once more, he discovered that Alfred was gone.

Gone now, alas.

Soon, the music stopped as well.

Karen lowered his head heavily, drawing a deep breath.

Analyzing it from a psychological perspective, this meant his inner self was prepared to face it directly, because this was his own dream.

Yet he simply could not bring himself to lift his head.

He was somewhat afraid to look at the person sitting opposite him.

When fear had already taken root... it proved that deep down, he already believed he had done wrong.

Justification, perfunctoriness, exculpation—all of these had lost their meaning. For deceiving oneself was truly an act far too foolish.

Within the rectangular depression of the hearse before him, corpses began to appear.

Karen still remembered them. They were Mr. Morf, the Editor-in-Chief, Hagert, Orca...

On that night, Grandfather had taken him along, knocking on doors one by one according to a list.

Karen took another deep breath, breaking the silence as he spoke:

"I thought that night happened because you were powerful enough, which was why you knocked on doors one by one to make them accept the punishment of the Order Regulations. For a long, long time, I believed that only when one's strength and status were powerful enough could they uphold order.

Many times, I chose to yield, I chose to wait. I wanted to wait until my strength was powerful enough, I wanted to wait until my status was high enough. I could turn a blind eye to the violations of order that were happening, yet still patiently bide my time.

Looking back now, you were clearly so powerful, yet these people..."

Cullen gestured toward the figures lying in the hollow.

"In your eyes, these people are nothing more than ants.

Yet, on this very night, you chose to ride out yourself, to read the Regulations of Order to them one by one, skipping no step of the process, leaving no soul overlooked.

So, this is not the crushing weight of supreme might; rather, it is your genuine reverence for the Regulations of Order, even if you do not believe in the God of Order, even if you feel a deep revulsion toward the Holy Church itself. You, nonetheless, believe in order, and you are willing to uphold it.

I never understood this before. I always fancied that I knew you so well, but I was wrong.

I thought I possessed a profound faith... I thought I was cleverer than the rest, I thought that I shared so much in common with the God of Order himself, and so... I naively believed that I was right. I thought I could walk slowly, observe slowly, accumulate slowly, and wait slowly, allowing everything to unfold with unhurried ease.

I mocked myself for having a flexible moral baseline, yet time and again, I professed my faith in order.

Order need not be a straight line, but it is certainly not this malleable, twisted thing that I fashion it to be.

I possessed the power to kill Vico long ago, yet I stayed my hand and let him live, wishing to wait until his execution would leave no lingering complications.

Yet on the other hand, I could risk immense danger alongside Neo to engage in this grand political gamble.

That night we encountered the Lax copper coin, if Neo had commanded me to hurl it at Gendi’s squad, I suppose I most likely would have complied; after all, he was the captain, and he was formidable then.

Though I knew full well that Fire Island might fall into disaster, I still resolved to flee early on. I wanted to hide, I wanted to shake off the trouble, and grasp the profits that could be turned into coin.

Indeed, in doing things, one must adapt, one must be composed, one must act according to the circumstances. Yet I have spent all this time using these very excuses to console myself, when in truth, my actual baseline is lower still.

To lack the capability, to have no recourse, to fail because it is impossible—that is one thing. But to possess the power to act and yet still evade, all the while muttering about order, writing in notebooks, and feeling exceedingly righteous about oneself.

Yes, I am an opportunist.

I fancied myself clever, I fancied myself remarkable, when in truth, I am a thoroughly hypocritical and selfish soul.

As I followed your lead in ridiculing the God of Order...

In truth, my various deeds and choices may well be more wretched, more despicable, than those of the God of Order.

At the very least,

The God of Order did not choose to uphold a treaty with the Land of Divine Burial.

Had it been me?

I suppose I would have weighed the pros and cons?

Ah,

The man I am now, how could he ever be fit to be compared to the God of Order?

Clearly, I took every step with utmost caution, deliberately slowing my pace with every advancement to seek the true path. Yet when my eyes were fixed solely upon these matters, I had already begun to walk covered in filth.

Seldom have my inner thoughts aligned with my actions in reality.

No matter how grand one's spiritual and intellectual heights may be, if one cannot even restrain one's own behavior and choices, then even a dwarf could look down upon himself.

If someone like me were ultimately to supplant the God of Order, that would be the greatest tragedy of order itself!"

At these words, Cullen finally summoned his courage and lifted his gaze.

The seat opposite him was empty.

"Alas..."

Cullen let out a heavy sigh.

He opened his eyes,

Only to see Alfred standing right beside him, a wet towel in his hand.

"Young Master, you are awake?"

"Those words, he was not speaking them to Vick."

"Young Master, what do you mean? Are you referring to Lord Taicensen's words?"

"He was speaking to me."

"Young Master, do you mean that Lord Taicensen knew Lord Dis? Of course, he did seem to mention someone in his speech, someone who made him give up learning how to fight.

He recognized you?

How could that be, unless...

He said he had asked if his help was needed, and that person said no.

That person did not refer to Lasma, but to Lord Dis?

Right, that day Lord Dis's clone traveled to many places through the Order Church's teleportation array. Helping the Allen Manor deal with the patriarch of the Raphael family was only the first step. His Lordship must have gone to see other old friends and acquaintances.

So, if Lord Dis made a special point to see him, then he must be entirely trustworthy, and for him to recognize you... would not be strange at all."

"Alfred..."

"Young Master?"

"Ah, I have brought shame upon Grandfather."