Chapter 488: One Person's Funeral

Chapter 488: A Man's Funeral

No restrictions or wards had been placed within this room, and the door itself was utterly ordinary; yet when it closed, even with so many dignitaries standing outside, not a soul dared to probe the slightest bit into what lay within.

For it is the disparity of status and position that forms the most unyielding barrier in this world.

However, when the door was opened—or rather, precisely when Wick opened it to let Karen and the others in but failed to close it in time...

The events unfolding inside the room naturally fell into the eyes and ears of everyone outside.

The Whip of Order had always held a transcendent status within the Church of Order, elevating the Whiplash above the heads of other departments within the Church, to the point where, historically, the position once carried the status of an alternate member of the Round Table.

Although subsequent reforms stripped the Whiplash of this alternate status, the current implementation of new policies by the newly appointed High Priest—particularly the clear objective of restructuring the lower and middle echelons of the Whip of Order—combined with the fact that this generation's Whiplash served entirely as the High Priest's right-hand man, had once again raised the position to a transcendent state.

There were even rumors that Foden regaining his alternate status on the Round Table would be a matter of course once the Whip of Order was fully revitalized.

For such a prominent figure to be splashed like this and lectured so severely;

To say he felt no anger would be impossible, but to claim his subsequent words and actions were driven entirely by rage would be equally impossible.

Because Foden’s status, position, and alignment dictated that, under these circumstances, this was the only response he could give.

First, as the supreme head of the Whip of Order, even if Thiesen had not stepped down, Foden would have no right to overtly micromanage the internal affairs of his own system; being the leader of a department required excellence in many areas, but above all, if one did not know how to protect one's own people from outsiders, the team would surely become impossible to lead.

Since internal cohesion directly translated into the Whiplash's personal power, maintaining that cohesion was an inevitable choice to safeguard his own status;

Unless Foden had no further ambitions and merely wished to coast through his term before retiring to rest, but it just so happened that he possessed grand ambitions, and as a department head, he was still remarkably young.

Furthermore, the actions of this observation team had been personally endorsed by him; punishing them would effectively be slapping his own face.

It remained unknown who stood behind Bernie, the logistics chief at the York City regional headquarters of the Whip of Order, but if one traced the chain of command down from the patrons of his backers, the ultimate figurehead would inevitably be Foden.

In short, to both internal and external observers, the observation team’s actions represented a successful attempt by a resurgent Whip of Order to expand its influence, and punishing them would mean declaring that attempt a failure.

Not only would Foden refuse to accept this, but the entire internal structure of the Whip of Order would also object, especially the middle and lower echelons currently watching from the sidelines; they desired nothing more than to break free from the control of regional administrations and achieve independent existence, but the key depended on whether the higher-ups could deliver.

Most importantly, today was an occasion where the High Priest had personally come to see Thiesen off on his final journey, aiming to mend the rift with the faction behind Thiesen, but the High Priest had not come to admit fault.

Since the High Priest would not admit fault, Foden, as his supporter, naturally could not show weakness.

Broadly speaking, the clash between the "new" and "old" forces would reach a temporary semicolon today; the High Priest's side wanted to win with dignity, while those behind Thiesen wanted to lose with dignity.

Everyone abided by this unspoken understanding, but if anyone crossed the line, the only response would be an equal tearing away of all civility.

Politics could be complicated, chaotic and treacherous, leaving one bewildered even when reviewing it after the fact; yet sometimes it was simple enough to reduce to a single rule: whatever the enemy supports, I oppose, and whatever the enemy opposes, I support.

At this moment, your "conservative faction" claims that these young people are ruined, have gone astray, and are worthless;

Then Foden, speaking on behalf of his own faction, must declare that these young people undoubtedly have boundless futures, will surely grow strong, and will become the rising stars of the Church.

Even if they were a herd of pigs, they would have to be pushed into the spotlight for everyone to cheer for them.

Moreover... this observation team had repeatedly achieved merit, completing several major missions successfully without dying young, so they were far from being "pigs" by any standard.

Standing outside, Mobiten’s expression did not change in the slightest, but as a family member of one of the involved parties, he keenly sensed how this splashed cup of tea would impact his grandson’s future prospects.

All he could do as the captain of the guard was introduce his grandson when leading the High Priest past the kneeling area; though the High Priest would likely not remember, mentioning him a few more times whenever the opportunity arose would eventually leave an impression.

Yet Thiesen’s act of splashing the tea was akin to a slap to the face, making it impossible for the impression not to be profound.

At this moment, Mobiten began to grow perplexed; he felt his grandson was not nearly exceptional or likable enough to warrant Lord Thiesen acting this way for him, and while the reputation of the Benda family carried weight with others, it held absolutely no sway over this great lord.

So, who could it really be?

Mobiten began to ponder; it seemed many members of this observation team had family backgrounds, but if one were to speak of anyone qualified to involve Lord Thiesen on his deathbed like this, there truly seemed to be no one.

As for the High Priest and the Whiplash inside the room, they wouldn't waste time wondering whom Thiesen was bestowing his blessings upon; firstly, as political rivals, they knew each other well—the old man harbored a true sense of order and stood upright, adhering strictly to etiquette even toward his own grandson who had inherited Lord Marchettini's legacy, so who could possibly persuade him to show favoritism now?

Secondly, in the eyes of the two lords, these young people amounted to nothing at all, lacking any necessity for them to waste effort thinking in that direction.

It was only because Mobiten had a familial connection that he subconsciously thought along those lines, and having arrived early, he had already sensed something amiss during his previous meeting with Lord Thiesen inside the room.

Standing along the wall with his subordinates, Karen's perception was incredibly clear; though Lord Thiesen had refused to see him over the past few days, the old man was indeed paving a path for him right now.

This was the care and affection of an elder, manifested through concrete action.

It was just a pity that this elder, his grandfather's friend, was about to pass away.

On many occasions, Karen would sigh, marvelling at just how splendid the era of his grandfather's youth must have been.

One thing was certain, though: it was surely far more splendid than his own.

The conversation drew to a close alongside the cup of tea; feeling it was time, the High Priest spoke, "Let me wheel you down."

Thiesen smiled faintly. "Yes, I was rolled down by you to begin with."

"My original intention was for you to rest more after stepping down; I did not expect it to turn out like this."

"And if you had known beforehand?" Thiesen asked.

"I still would have pushed you down. I believe that, too, is a form of respect for an opponent."

The High Priest reached out, gripped the back of the wheelchair, and pushed Thiesen toward the door, with Foden following closely behind.

Upon reaching the doorway, the High Priest paused, his gaze sweeping across Karen and the others standing by the wall, finally resting on Karen.

"You are Karen, right?"

Karen immediately dropped to one knee. "Yes, Karen Silva."

"A very handsome young man."

The High Priest smiled slightly and pushed the wheelchair out the door.

His question just now carried no underlying motive; he knew of Karen, remembered the name, and had seen the observation team's files—though only a brief glance, his clone processed official duties in the Grand Hall of Order at an astonishing speed, implying a truly terrifying memory and computational capacity.

However, the reason he brought it up here was not to tie up loose ends, nor was it for foreshadowing or sending a signal; it was purely because Karen was good-looking.

Regardless of gender, beautiful things naturally draw attention more easily and leave a more lasting memory.

Thus, good-looking people are born with a head start at the finish line.

The dignitaries outside followed the High Priest forward, descending the stairs; in the first-floor lobby, many high-ranking clergymen who were unqualified to accompany them upstairs stood waiting.

Once everyone had departed, Karen stood up; it had to be said that when the High Priest mentioned his name earlier, it had placed immense pressure on him.

This pressure differed from facing a "God"; when facing a deity, though awed by her aura, one's subconscious dictated that the era of gods had ended, that this was an age where gods did not walk the earth.

But the High Priest was alive, breathing and speaking.

Furthermore, he was the most powerful High Priest in many generations, even though he had occupied the seat for less than half a year.

Early on, other churches speculated that he was merely a transitional High Priest; now, reality had slapped almost everyone in the face, for even the high echelons within the Church of Order had not anticipated things developing to such a state.

"Captain?" Muri walked over to Karen. "Should we head down?"

"Let's go down, Captain," Wick spoke up. "Let's go down and see."

Everyone turned their gaze onto Wick.

Wick immediately leaned forward, pressing his mouth close to Karen's ear, and whispered:

"Based on my cooperation in leaving the door open, you've got to give me an official slot, right?"

Karen smiled, then nodded.

In truth, having this person join his squad made him quite uncomfortable because it was evident that he was highly intelligent; and Karen, having already thoroughly tamed everyone in the squad—even Philomena—was too lazy to smooth out any more prickly burrs.

Even if there were two slots left, if he were to bring anyone in, he would prefer an "honest kid," looking for a well-matched tool of a person.

Now Karen agreed, not because of the other man’s earlier "assistance," but because he could see that this was also Lord Thyssen’s will.

"Let us go down and see."

Karen led everyone down the stairs, where a line of knights stood at the bottom; they remained motionless as Karen and his companions descended.

Wick wept as he walked down the steps:

"Lord Thyssen, please do not leave me, boohoo..."

The knights exchanged glances and did not block his way, stepping aside to allow Karen and the others to follow along down.

The living room of the villa was vast, yet it now appeared somewhat crowded, for far more people had come than expected.

Karen spotted several reporters dressed in the robes of the Order, holding cameras and snapping photographs.

Yet compared to the reporters, the nearly twenty artists lining both sides, already painting upon their drawing boards, held true dominance.

Clearly, according to the traditions of the Church, whenever a grand event required recording, the artists were the true orthodoxy.

This scene filled Alfred with great excitement; he even drifted slightly to the edge to steal glances at the artists’ work, hoping to secretly learn their compositional techniques.

Among the luminaries standing below, there were those who truly held seats at the Round Table, as well as alternates; even the ones standing at the very back and outermost periphery, if pulled out at random, were the heads of some system.

Only now did Karen profoundly realize just how exalted Lord Thyssen’s status truly was; he did not represent a single person, but was the banner of an entire faction.

Though he had failed, his influence remained something that could not be underestimated.

The Grand Priest had come in person today primarily to "accept the surrender," hoping to end the factional struggles of the recent past, if only briefly.

He did not wish for the Church to fracture entirely due to internal conflicts; he desired a peace, even if it were merely on the surface, provided, of course, that he was the victor of this stage.

Seated in his wheelchair, Thyssen began to speak, starting from his childhood, reminiscing over the course of his life.

Everyone present listened with utmost seriousness, for the speaker’s own experiences were legendary enough, and all knew that this was likely the last time they would hear this elder speak.

The atmosphere in the living room at this moment gave Karen the distinct feeling of attending a memorial service.

Yes, indeed, what was being held right now was Thyssen’s own memorial service, and he himself was both the priest and the master of ceremonies.

Through Thyssen’s calm narration, Karen learned that he too had served in the Whip of Order in his youth, and he spoke of the tales of his former companions.

Upon concluding this part of his life, Thyssen began to recount his understanding of the Whip of Order, believing that for a long time past, it had failed to truly exert its role of internal oversight, which was a regression of its function.

He suggested reconstructing the lower and middle tiers of the Whip of Order, severing this system from the various regional administrative offices.

"I believe the Whip of Order requires a wielder, a fierce wielder, a steadfast will. Perhaps many colleagues will feel that a Whip of Order fiercely restored to its highest historical status would become a tool for the personal desires of a certain individual or faction..."

Speaking to this point, Thyssen, from his wheelchair, turned his gaze toward Verdon.

Verdon stood there, entirely expressionless.

In truth, everyone below understood whom Thyssen truly wished to look upon: it was the Grand Priest standing behind him.

For all knew that Verdon wielded the whip on behalf of the Grand Priest.

Once the Whip of Order was restored to its most glorious state, whoever controlled it would essentially control a weapon of mass destruction for internal purging.

You might guarantee your own innocence, but could you guarantee that the subordinates of your faction were without fault?

Furthermore, sometimes it truly did not matter whether you had a problem or not, because the power to define guilt lay in the hands of others.

Thyssen coughed twice and continued, "I feel there is absolutely no need to worry about this. We cannot refuse to touch it, nor forbid others from touching it, simply because the position carries grave consequences.

Will it become the exclusive tool of a certain person or faction? Certainly, it will.

But I would rather allow a single individual to master it than let it continue to degenerate into a carnival for the gods-know-how-many corrupted priests currently in the various regions!"

Many in the hall did not yet know that upstairs in the room earlier, Lord Thyssen had directly splashed a cup of water into Verdon’s face.

"I believe in many of my colleagues, I believe in you, I believe in the Grand Priest, and I believe in the vast majority of people present here. In our hearts, we are filled with devotion to Order, to the God of Order.

Otherwise, it would have been impossible for our Church of Order to sustain and develop itself to this day.

But I hope even more that everyone realizes, just as stated in the Principle Church's *Theory of Rise and Fall*, when a thing develops to its absolute peak, it must inevitably begin to decline.

Many problems have arisen within our Church now; we need reform, we need to make changes based on the current state of the world, and we must be ready at all times to welcome new challenges.

True, the Grand Priest and I have differences regarding certain paths, which is nothing to hide, but our starting point is entirely for the betterment of the Church, so that the light of Order may forever shine pure and bright.

Differences and debates should remain strictly internal, digested and resolved by ourselves.

I leave my words here: whoever dares to spread differences and debates to the entire Church, or even outside of it, and dares to harm the interests of the Church for their own gains, he shall be the enemy of the entire Church!

In the *Regulations of Order*, the punishments for apostates are explicitly recorded!

I am tired,

I am weary,

I wish to rest a while."

Thyssen raised his gaunt hand, and the Grand Priest, who had been standing behind him, stepped to his side, bowing slightly to grasp his hand.

With a smile on his face, Thyssen used his other hand to gently pat the back of the Grand Priest’s hand, their eyes meeting.

At that moment, the cameras began to flash incessantly, and all the artists began to swiftly move their brushes.

"I expect our Grand Priest to lead our Church to successfully face all the coming challenges, to make our Church better and better."

Grand Priest Norton replied:

"I shall not fail your expectations."

Thyssen drew a thick volume from beneath his wheelchair; it was the *Regulations of Order*.

"Throughout my life, I have believed in this book. I can say without a shred of shame that in all my past years, I have never violated its articles, nor defied its spirit;

It has been the streetlamp upon the path of my life, illuminating the direction of my advance.

Starting from half a year ago, I began to frequently hear prophecies of the impending return of the gods; I believe you all must have heard quite a few as well.

So,

Are you worried?

Are you terrified?

Are you uneasy?

I am not, not in the least, truly, I do not deceive you.

Because the *Regulations of Order* contains the 'Scroll of Gods,' which stipulates the punishments a god must receive upon violating the *Regulations of Order*.

In truth, our ancestors have already guided the way for us, which is that even when facing the high and mighty gods, we, the believers of Order, should have the courage to stand tall, face them calmly, and say aloud:

According to investigations or reports, you have violated the *Regulations of Order* and must accept the punishment from Order!

I think this is precisely what the God of Order wishes to see; this is the true manner we, the believers of Order, ought to possess!"

"Cough, cough, cough..."

As these words concluded, Thyssen's entire countenance instantly turned deathly pale. He had held himself upright until now solely to finish these words, to bring this matter to a close. Now, his task was accomplished, his work was finished, and his life was drawing to its end.

With trembling hands, Thyssen crossed them over his chest,

And said devoutly:

"Praise the God of Order!"

Everyone in the living room crossed their arms over their chests and spoke in unison:

"Praise the God of Order!"

In the next moment, the old man’s hands began to descend slowly, finally hanging limp at his sides;

He was gone.

———

We are only a few hundred votes away from the person ahead of us, everyone please help hold the line so we can overtake them, begging for monthly tickets!